Finding the Warmth of Light
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: Sequel to HIWP, revamp. When we left him, Norrington had gotten himself into trouble with the Navy. Now he has escaped to his niece's world, where everything he once knew is challenged, and where a startling discovery is made that will shake the Realms.
1. A visiting mate

Ello again! Long time no see, innit? I've finally begun to rewrite this story, and I have split the whole thing up into several stories--one world per story, ish--and have finally found a way around the site's anti-WordPerfect prejudice. :C This part of the series has stayed pretty much the same, although you may notice certain differences here and there. The majorly changed parts will come later, I promise. This 'episode' is completely finished, and so will receive one update per week (unless I'm feeling generous.) Enjoy and review! Happy Easter!

**Chapter One: A Visiting Mate and Reacting Others**

It was a chilly winter day in Center City, Philadelphia. Today had been labeled a 'code blue', and everyone was inside keeping warm. ...Or...in their cars. ...The streets were irritatingly congested. Even more now than usual. A van filled with teenagers was ensnared in the mix, and off all the ones listening to music and chatting with one another, only one girl was looking out the window, her brown eyes lost in thought. She sighed, her breath fogging the glass. The other four girls were chattering excitedly, completely un-bored by the long drive from home to here, made longer by the traffic backup. They were on a mission trip with their church, doing service in their own city for a change. It was true, she wasn't exactly looking forward to the trip. All her friends in church had been unable to come, and thus would she be stuck with perky and preppy and other people she didn't know too well. She hated perky. She also disliked being with people she already wasn't friends with. She blamed her introvertedness. The only person she was even remotely comfortable around was the Youth Pastor who was accompanying them. However, he was in one of the other two vans packed with other peers she was not fond of. But that was all right, she reasoned. She was content with her own silence and the promise of a weekend filled with new experiences and opportunities. Keeping busy would give her an excuse not to socialize.

_Oh well,_ thought she, watching a small group of people hastening down the sidewalk, hurrying to their (hopefully) warmer destinations. She sighed again, this time in relief, glad for the heating in the van. _Yay, we're moving again! I can't wait to see where we'll be staying this weekend,_ she thought as the traffic began to pick up. But it seemed her thinking had jinxed things, for as they were going over a bridge, that said traffic decided to come to a standstill.

"They say it's like this every morning," said their driver, Mrs Kel, a mother of one of the other kids, and the three girls in the back seat groaned. "But I don't think we'll have to come this way every day." Everyone sighed in relief. Battling this kind of jam was the last thing any of them wanted.

The daydreamer had to blink a few times behind her new glasses before she realized it had begun to snow. Tiny white crystals flurried lazily about, landing on windows and cars, melting immediately. Minutes passed faster than the cars did, and the flurries eventually grew into clumps. A rather large one landed on her window, obscuring the gray view of the bridge's sidewalk, the bridge which they were _still_ stuck on. She watched in mild fascination as the white fuzz became clear and liquid. Through it, she could see a blurry, blue blotch on the walkway. The water dripped leisurely down the pane, revealing the figure: A man in a powdered wig and standard 1700's rear Admiral naval uniform, hat in hand. He whipped his head around, looking this way and that, very confused, as if with absolutely no idea where he was, or where he was going, or perhaps even _whether_ he was going anywhere at all. A car sped past, filling a hole made by someone turning off, and he recoiled, watching it as if he'd never before seen a sedan. To the average Philadelphian passerby (or driverby, in this case), what with their common lack of knowledge of wear from certain times and locations, he was just one of the people who dressed up old-fashioned like and gave tours of historical sites and landmarks and such in the city. Another passing car beeped its horn at him before turning off, thinking him some new attraction to Philly. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Well, he really only seemed to startle slightly, but the girl had a way of seeing these things. ...Just like when they had first met...

Her eyes widened with recognition, and without a second thought, she flung open the door and stepped out into the unmoving mass of automobiles and cold. "Ellie!" she called to the figure, hands cupped around her mouth, breath forming a cloud in the air before her, glasses steaming up. The man looked to her, and she beckoned him closer.

"Amy?" he asked as he wove through the still-standing cars to her.

"James!" He rushed to her and they embraced. "What are you doing here, where—," she stopped. "Never mind. I'm sure we both have questions to bombard one another with, and we can take care of that once we get you off the streets." She led him to the door of the van. "Come on, get in."

He peered cautiously inside. "What is it?"

"It's a carriage. Go on, go on," and she gently shoved him inside the teal/grey automobile, climbing in after. She directed him to sit right in between the seats that made up the middle row, and again took her seat, buckling her seatbelt."

"Amy, you can't just bring a stranger off the streets—," Mrs. Kel began.

But Amy interrupted. "—I think you'll find that I can. Look, I'll explain everything later, with _all_ the chaperones so as I won't have to repeat myself, savvy?" Mrs. Kel agreed grudgingly. As if on cue, the traffic light changed, and they were soon leaving behind that accursed traffic backup.

"Where are we?" murmured James.

Ames grinned that crazed grin of hers and said in an uber cheap French accent, "Welcome to de esteemed citee of Philadelphia, my friend."

He blinked. "Truly nothing like the Port I once knew, then."

"Save for, maybe, the Delaware," she added. He nodded agreement.

Finally removing his wig, he set it before him, atop his elaborate hat, and ran a hand through his short, tousled, light brown hair. "So this is your kind of carriage, then?"

"Yep."

"Curious. No steeds. Then how does it move?"

"Believe me when I say it's too complicated and am not fully sure of any of it."

"Eh?"

"Summat about gasoline, oil, turbines, motors, cylinders, suspension systems, batteries, brakes, electricity and suchwhat energy, and—man, it'd take all day to explain it, and I don't really even know what I'm explaining. Let's leave that to the experts, huh?"

He gaped at her for a moment before agreeing with a chuckle. "Yes."

"So, uh...stupid question, I know, but...what'cha doing here?"

"I was in trouble and asked to come here."

She snorted. "Trouble? You?"

He smiled somewhat shamefully up at her. "I betrayed the Navy, pet."

Her disbelief turned to shock. "No way!"

"It's true."

"Whad'ja do?"

He smiled again, this time less shameful. "I let my brother go free."

She beamed in pride at him and reached out with one hand to squeeze his shoulder, as her seatbelt wouldn't allow her to glomp him as a proud aunt should. "That's m'boy. Remind me to give you a cookie."

He glanced up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Cookie?"

She smiled mischievously. "You'll see."

"Oh dear."

"You'll love it, I promise."

"Of course I will," was his somewhat resigned reply. "So this is Philadelphia, then?"

"Meerw! ...Wait, sorry, that's catfrog for yes."

He shook his head almost bewildered, as though he had forgotten her peculiarities. He wasn't sure he still had the patience to deal with this child. "I thought you said you lived in the 'suburbs.'"

"I do. I'm here to do mission work with my church. Service. You know."

"Service?"

"Perhaps you don't know," she amended. "Rebuilding and/or cleaning up old churches, feeding the hungry, bringing warm wintry garments to the homeless, and so on and such forth."

"Homeless?" James lowered his eyes, looking somewhat unnerved. "Among the poor and the dirty and the thieves?" He shuddered as though the thought of such people disgusted him.

Her jaw dropped, and her soft brown gaze shifted into a sharp, black glare. "They're people too." Her voice was soft and calm, almost as if trying to hold back sadness, rather than anger.

"My apologies." He looked away ashamedly. "It's just...in our world, it is generally accepted that only certain sorts of people would burden themselves with trying to help people who cannot be helped."

"Burden!" He flinched visibly. "I'm sorry. But why does it have be a bad thing to help those in need?"

"It's their own fault that they need such that they do," he muttered crossly but softly. "They should get _themselves_ out of such a situation."

"God's bread, James!" The van went silent a moment as she quieted. "You know, maybe it's a really good thing you showed up here and now. Perhaps we can turn you around."

He looked up to see her studying him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, fingers stroking an imaginary beard, all former signs of hostility nonexistent. "What?" he startled.

"Nothing, nothing, nothing at all," she replied, voice betraying a hidden laughter as she continued to study him.

He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "Of course."

"Running for your life first chance you get?" Ames suggested.

"Without a doubt."

"Heh."

"We're here," said Mrs. Kel as they turned down a narrow road, ended up going the complete wrong way, drove around the block since it was all one-way, and parking before a decrepit-looking building.

"Great, now we can get this all sorted out," sighed Amy with a mixture of dread and relief.

"We have to wait for the others to get here."

"Are we the first ones here?" asked one of the aforementioned girls in the backseat.

"Yup," was Mrs. Kel's response. "Oh, there's Justin." She pointed out another van parking some distance up the street.

The first van emptied as everyone stepped out into the cold to wait for the final two vans. James pulled his coat more snugly around him. "Gracious. Is it always this cold here?"

"Only on a code blue at the peak of winter. What, doesn't it get cold down in the Caribbean?"

"I thought it did. But now that I experience it, our winter must be like spring to you. By the by, what is a code blue?"

"I knew you were going to ask. It's where it's so cold that the police and all them official people get everyone off the streets because it's a health hazard to be out. It's why the streets're so congested." She sniffled. "...Like my nose." The wind picked up and James shivered. "Okay, share body heat time, come on." And she huddled closer. However, even as she was beginning to get him warm, his lips and hands were starting on blue. "Ohp. That's why it's called a code _blue, _huh." He nodded, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

The other vans pulled up. Out stepped the rest of the high schoolers...And the rest of the chaperones. James immediately stopped shivering and straightened, composing himself for confrontation, reverting to 'unyielding-Commodore' mode. "Hey everyone," called a fairly young man, perhaps in his early thirties, with short, dark hair and a slightly hooked nose.

"That's out pastor, Scott," Ames murmured to her nephew. They watched as Mrs. Kel gathered with the chaperones and Scott, and spoke to them in a huddle in somewhat hushed tones. The young minister glanced at James, listening intently, thoughtful frown on his face. "Oh-oh, here it goes..."

True enough, Scott approached moments later, appearing as amiable and eager to make a new friend as ever. "Hello there," chirruped he in his friendly tenor, smiling affably to show no hostility. "So, it looks like you came to join us. Scott Braschevitz." He extended his hand, which the Navy man shook.

"Former Commodore James Norrington."

"Now why does that sound familiar?" The young pastor scrunched up his face, racking his memory.

"You'll find out once I explain," cut the girl into his train of thought. "But I'll need to talk to everyone, in private, kay?"

The reverend bobbed his head. "Cool. Let's get everyone settled first, and then we can talk."

"Sounds like a plan."

So everyone was gathered and led inside to a lounge that looked (and was) comfortable and cozy, rather than cold and decrepit and falling apart as the exterior gave pretense to. There, they met two representatives of the Foundation they were working with, then shown to the two bunk rooms up a couple of steep flights of stairs; one for the girls, one for the boys, the 'no purple' rule applying as always. Girls were off the landing at the peak of the first flight, the boys atop the second. They received an introduction and orientation, then left to unpack and claim their mattresses.

Ames made certain to finish quickly, and was back down in the lounge where James was, to wait for the chaperones. She happened upon him studying the mural on the wall of the Philadelphia skyline, hat on head, wig in hand. "It' rather bewildering. ...So many things I don't understand, after coming from a life where everything I saw I understood; now I find there is so much more that I will never know—that even with all my knowledge, I know truly nothing."

"Such intrigue be the world," the girl mused wisely.

"Aye."

He was about to continue, but she cut him off before he had the chance to begin. "Lemme guess; you want to know what they are," she gestured to the silhouetted skyscrapers.

He smiled at her powerful intuition. "Yes."

She grinned. "Two in a row, I'm on fire!" she beat the air. "These, dear boy, are buildings. Offices, stock markets, trade, shopping centres...landmarks..."

His eyes widened. "And yet they stand steady? Remarkable. It's as though they touch the skies..."

"Hence the term 'sky scrapers.'"

"Ah."

"Yep."

"Okay, I think it's time we were told what the whole situation is," came a voice. The two turned around to see Scott, along with the other assembled adults, at the top of the stair leading from the main level landing down to the lounge. They descended and sat in the couches and armchairs, waiting for her to explain.

Thus she took a long, deep breath to calm her nerves—public speaking wasn't one of her strong points—and began."You've all seen or heard of_ Pirates of the Caribbean_, right?"

"It's a movie," Scott added to the parent or two who, by some manner of deprivation, had not.

"Well, those of you who have may recall the Commodore Norrington what, for all intents and purposes, was an enemy of the main character, Captain Jack Sparrow? The one who wanted to hang him and marry Elizabeth?" She received a few comprehending nods and continued hesitantly, gesturing at James. "This...this is that Commodore, after much self improvement."

"What, you mean the actor?"

Amy facepalmed. "No! Not the actor. The real deal. The character in all manner of reality." The chaperones looked at her with disbelief clear on their faces. She took a deep breath to slow her hammering heart, eyes squeezing shut for that instant. She was considering telling them she had been joking and just say he was a relative, but she had said too much already. James placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she found herself calmed. "When I went missing, months ago... I went to another world; one that's parallels to ours, and that happened to be the world in which _Pirates of the Caribbean _took place."

"You ran away from home—you told the police that yourself."

"It were pretense," James put in. They merely gave him an odd look, and he glared at them. "So this is what your world has come to, is it?" he muttered to the lass. "To the point at which the word of an innocent mind cannot be taken for truth."

"James...think about it. You read a fictional book over and over again. Then, out of nowhere, someone comes to you and says they're a character from that book. Just how easily would you have been able to believe that before I came into the picture?"

He rubbed at his eyes. "You're right," he sighed. "Then how do we prove to them that we're telling the truth?"

"I don't know," came the soft, uncertain reply.

The room went silent for several long moments which seemed to stretch into infinity. Then, suddenly, there was a good deal of rattling in the walls and ceiling, and a groan from some mechanism in the building. James started, looking around alarmed and wide-eyed. "What? What's happening?"

"The heat is coming on."

"...Coming on?"

"More mumbo-jumbo I can't explain."

"But...what is it?"

"Some system takes in air and heats it, then pushes it through pipes and vents throughout the building, thus heating it." The former-commodore's green eyes darted around apprehensively, as if half-expecting the thing to roar. "Just think of it as a magic fireplace."

"That I can do."

The chaperones, having witnessed this little episode, were now watching them with somewhat thoughtful expressions. "All right, we'll buy it.'

James and Amy exchanged expressions.

"So he can stay?" she asked Scott hopefully. "We can always use another helping hand, can't we?"

Scott shrugged. "Sure, why not."

"He may need to borrow warmer or more appropriate clothes, if that's all right."

"Later," said James. "I get the feeling we're holding up some event or other, and we don't want that." He elbowed Amy as she opened her mouth to protest. "Do we?"

"No."

"All right," Scott bobbed his head. "Hey, Justin, Michelle, you two wanna go round everybody up and get them down here so we can go?" The couple nodded and left. It wasn't long before they heard the creaks of floorboards above them, and the stomps of those descending the steep stairs.

"Where are we going?" James leaned down to her.

"No idea."

The rest of the high schoolers filed into the lounge and took up seats on the couches and chairs and odd bean bag. "All right, everyone! We're going to take a little trip around the city and learn what kinds of problems people have to deal with. Same vans as before." He turned to instruct the other adults and sighted James, still with his hand upon his aunt's shoulder, and turned back to the kids again. "Oh, almost forgot. Everyone, this is James." He gestured to the man behind him. "He's a friend of Amy's, and he's going to be helping us out this weekend." James smiled friendly and gave a curt wave of the hand in response to the cacophonous greeting that often accompanied such a horde of teenagers. "All right, let's get going!"

And so, everyone upped and went outside, filing back into their respective vans. "All right," Ames murmured to James. "Let's do this." He nodded, easing down to his knees on the floor beside her. The vans sped off, splitting into two groups of two to go off and view the city.

* * *

Be sure to brush after all the chocolate! I know what sensitive teeth are like (I can't even drink milk unless it's been warmed a little!) and I don't want anyone else to end up with 12 filling a year like me.

Enjoy the holiday! Review?


	2. Dark Visions

Yay, chapter two again! Blerg. What a busy week. I have a 10 page research paper on animal exploitation due on Tuesday, and a Bio exam, AND finals coming up! AAAHH!!! But Mom and I went to see The Lion King at the Academy of Music. My mind is blown.

Do not own.

**Chapter Two: Dark Visions**

Evening had already come, and the two vans in Amy's group stopped as they were coming to the top of a hill, sun setting behind the dense, grey clouds. It was here that the representative described to them the living conditions and numbers of people unemployed or homeless. "I wanted to show you guys the Philadelphia skyline, but as you can see, it's too foggy," explained the representative, Kris. True enough, all that was visible of that marvelous skyline was a dark, looming shadow, revealing only that something was there, and nothing more. Ames looked around and noticed something sparkle as it passed her. Her gaze sought it out and followed it to the grass. A snowflake. It had begun to snow again. The tiny crystals swirled all around them, cold though beautiful. Her gaze swept to James some distance away and saw him gazing in almost wonder at the minute white particles. She walked over and stood at his side, hands dug deep into her pockets, as she'd forgotten gloves. Again.

"It's been so long," he murmured after a few moments. "I only lived in London until I was seven. ...We sailed around the ports for a few years while I was still a cabin boy , but the Caribbean held so much more promise. I haven't really seen it snow since." They huddled together, gazes directed skyward, just watching the snowflakes spiral and shimmer to the frozen ground.

There was a call and they turned back to the van and followed the other passengers inside. The van sped slowly into the cold of night.

The final stop, after several others...nearly such a frightful tale in itself! Yet alas, all parts of a story must be told for the sake of the plot. The final stop was beneath an old bridge in the more rundown part of the city. Unlike the beautiful and clean Center City they'd seen at an earlier stop, all that could be seen in the murky orange light of the streetlamps were the rusty old bridge, and the puddles and litter and weeds growing through the cracked concrete. Such a place made the girl shiver with something other than cold. A sudden feeling surrounded her heart, as if something were clutching it, squeezing it. She tightened all the muscles in her upper body, hoping to be rid of such a disconcerting sensation. But this feeling, this pang, was so strong, there was nothing could be done to chase it off. Something bad was going to happen. Such a pang about the heart always held a premonition of some sort. And judging from the intensity, such an event would be very bad, and very soon. She shook her head, trying to focus on what was being said, but instead, a blinding white light hit her, and she ceased to be aware of the world around her. Instead, she saw James, chained to a post, outermost clothing in a pile some distance away. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes glittering with rage. A flourish of orange and green material floated in front of her gaze, and she saw a woman stalking toward him, a maleficent glint in her eyes. She held up a gun. Her finger wrapped around the trigger, then tightened, and James... Suddenly, Amy found herself back under the bridge. She looked hastily around for Norrington and spotted him near the van, some distance away, looking out over the expanse of the city, eyes lit with a silent wonder.

Ames sighed with relief. What had just happened? Perhaps it had something to do with Hannah. He would know. But if she explained such an occurrence as this to him, would he not be angry with her for imagining such a thing happening? For she had convinced herself it had merely been some passing train of thought related to the foreboding sense she was feeling. She shook her head again, frustratedly trying to clear it. Whatever. She could always talk to him later, in private.

"So what do you think the average life span of a homeless person is?" Kris quizzed the teenagers. "Go on, try and guess."

"Forty."

"Twenty."

"Twenty-six."

"Thirty-two."

"Nine," came the answer. There was a shocked silence.

"Because of all the infants," Amy mumbled to herself. She found she was again glancing at James. Had he been a cat, she could've sworn she saw an ear pricked at the conversation, although his gaze continued to scan the streets lit dimly in the weakening sunlight. She turned her attention back to the information that was being explained. Contrary to expectation, this stuff was actually interesting! Several minutes passed before she heard a muffled cry. She turned slowly, dread shooting up her spine.

He stood, arms tightly and painfully restrained by two thugs, gritting his teeth angrily as he struggled for freedom. The smaller of the two began to roughly remove his blue naval coat. He ripped off the sword and holster, tore the pistol from its place at James' ribs, examining the latter scrutinously before throwing it carelessly down to the small pile growing at his feet. He patted the man down before proceeding to roughly rid him of his waistcoat and several small, hidden knives that had been underneath. Shoes, hat, and wig were thrown off as well, discovering extra shot in the latter two and very tiny knives in the first. They forced him to a street light pole, and a metallic clink echoed deafeningly as they handcuffed his hands behind him and around it. They couldn't leave him like that—he would freeze! "James!" Amy cried out, stumbling toward him. One of the thugs pulled out a handgun and pointed it at her.

"Nobody come closer, got it?" She looked from the burly white gangster to her nephew and back several times, gaze finally coming to rest on Norrington. He shook his head quickly, and she nodded acknowledgment, returning to the group. The second thug also pulled out a handgun, pointing it at James as he stooped and looted a small pouch of coins from the sapphire coat's pocket. "No cell phones," began the first, "no yelling, no sudden movements, no runnin' away from the group; or we'll shoot." He paced along the front edge of the group as he spoke, gun resting threateningly on his shoulder.

The second thug, less burly than the first, spoke to James. "No funny business, ya heard? You chill, and we ain't got no problem."

"Funny business? What's _really_ funny is your grammar."

The barrel of the nearest gun was pressed to his forehead, but he only gazed back, eyes like stone, unperturbed. The white turned to watch the scene, and Amy chose this moment of averted attention to dart behind one of the vans. "No funny business," the smaller thug repeated with a death glare, pulling his gun away.

"Ever'body—coats off—now!—Yeah. Now up against the wall, hands where we can see 'em." Everyone complied, and the villain began the process of patting them down one by one and emptying their pockets. Cell phones, money, and anything of value were stuffed into a small, off-white sack, probably a dirty old pillowcase. Ames watched from her hiding place, desperately trying to come up with a plan. But her ming was reeling, and each time she tried she came up empty-handed.

One of the girls cried out and tried to squirm away when, but the thug roughly shoved her back into place, drawing a hand back to strike her and remind her who was boss when James' commanding voice cut through the air. "You won't touch her."

"Oh yeah? An' whachoo gonna do 'bout it?"

"Oh nothing really, besides snap your friend's neck," came a chilling, nonchalant reply. Everyone looked to see that the Commodore had managed to get both his feet around the Latino's neck, positioned just so, so that in one swift movement the man's life would end. He must have done this sort of thing before.

_Go James!_ Amy silently cheered for him, still groping for a solution and hoping that his actions were all that were needed. The thug stepped away from the girls just long enough that his friend kept his life before a gun was pressed to the naval commander's temple from behind. The lass cursed profusely and ducked down lower for fear of having been heard.

James, in his one moment of confusion, swiftly turned to face a third person who had come to help out with the 'mass robbery.' The face he met was both beautiful and fear-inspiring: an aesthetic woman of a race he could not identify, eyes deadly, daring him to make one more false move. His guard lowered somewhat, the thug he'd been threatening took hold of one of his legs and twisted it hard. A gag was stuffed in his mouth as he cried out in pain when a distinct cracking noise echoed around the bridge, light glaring off his stocking as Amy noticed randomly, before the limb fell limply to the ground, hanging at an odd angle. With a grin, the looting goon turned back to his plundering.

However, in Amy's case, sometimes it payed to be so randomly observant, for the glare of his stocking reminded her of the neglected pile of weaponry and clothes—and weaponry—lying some distance away from all the action. Her eyes sought out the gleam of the sword, a plan forming in her head. Her timing had to be perfect on this one. And she hoped (dearly) that an opportune moment would present itself soon, because time was running out: she recognized the woman as from her vision, and inferred that it could only be a matter of time before she tried to do what the lass so feared her doing.

The woman's gun guarding James—who was probably now unable to even_ try_ and fight back anyway—the second thug went over to the pile of coats and began to empty the contents of all the pockets.

The wheels in her mind spun furiously as Amy worked the kinks out of her plan. All she had to do now was wait to put said plan into action until the aforementioned opportune moment. "You know, guys," the woman called to her accomplices after a while. "It's been a while since I had so much fun doing this. How often do one of ya'll almost get killed?" Both men sniggered, not looking up from their looting.

"Maybe you should make it even better," one of them grinned.

Pastor Scott's head shot up, and he locked gazes with James. After a few moments, the latter's expression turned from pain to panic as he realized what she meant. He manipulated the gag in his mouth apprehensively as she sashayed around front of him, stepping back to take in his appearance. In a last-ditch effort to look intimidating, the former-Commodore drew himself up, standing tall on his still-operating leg and squaring his shoulders, lips pursed, brows drawn together, eyes darkening. It only succeeded in making himself look more dashing. "Damn. You hot, aincha," breathed the wench. "Shame I'm gonna ugly that pretty face."

Amy groaned inwardly. _James, why did you have to be born so handsome?_ she thought despairingly.

One of the woman's hands snaked out to caress the strong line of his jaw, and he abruptly turned his head away from the touch, eyes blazing, angrily manipulating the socks that had been stuffed into his mouth. He suddenly caught sight of the lass, hiding behind one of the vans in the dark. She was looking from his sword to the two goons, as if waiting for a perfect moment. Then, as if remembering a lingering threat, she looked back at the woman, and seemed startled to meet his gaze. Her surprised expression was all he managed to see, however, before hands that looked deceivingly delicate forced his face back to the woman's, and her lips forcefully met his. He struggled for freedom, but her hands bound him from moving. When at last he was permitted to breathe, he jerked his head away, panting for breath, eyes automatically seeking out the girl's.

"What you keep lookin' at?" the woman asked distractedly, glancing over her shoulder. Even with himself as a distraction, James noticed, she was still alert to her surroundings.

Amy ducked down just in time not to be seen. When she thought it safe again, she dared to peek over the hood. The woman was fiddling with her handgun at the moment. Her gaze locked with James', and his eyes flitted from her to the clothing pile and back, and he subtly nodded his understanding of what she planned to do. There was a pause in their silent communication as he watched the offending woman with a sideward glance. Then his eyes danced back to the lass's, and something in his gaze changed as he made a decision. And Ames knew what it was. "No, no no no!" she mouthed frantically, shaking her head. _No, James, don't do it_—_don't do it, James!_ With a shaking breath, his expression changed, and he turned to face the woman again, a teasing smirk covering his inner turmoil. In one swift motion, there was no going back: he outstretched his neck and locked lips once again with the woman. She smiled into the kiss, eyes gleaming with victory, hands running through his short hair. As she closed her eyes and deepened the action, James motioned the younger lass into action with his own.

She nodded, blinking away the blurriness in front of her eyes at what his sacrifice might cost him, and, realizing both thugs had their backs turned, darted silently out from her safe-spot, snatching up the sword and handkerchief before 'appearing' behind the goon standing guard. She pressed the blade to his throat, whispering dangerously in his ear, "Drop your gun and loot and go silently, and I won't kill you, nor will I call the cops upon your departure...or your demise." The thug laughed amusedly, but before he could say anything, she pressed the sword more tightly against his neck, making it difficult to move at all without he started to bleed. She felt him swallowing heavily against the blade, and saw a trickle of blood begin to wind its way down his neck and into his shirt. Slowly, ever so slowly, the gun went down, and the money bag fell from his hand, landing with a soft _thud_. The girl placed her foot upon the pistol and drew it back to her. She removed the sword and shoved him away. He sprinted off and did not look back. Carefully, ever carefully, using the handkerchief to hide her own fingerprints, she picked up the gun. She glanced up as she stood and saw the shocked expressions, especially that of Scott, but did not waste time explaining, instead giving them a solemn nod, and putting her finger to her lips.

Amy's eyes darted back to James. The woman brought up her gun and pressed it against his chest. He broke off the kiss. "What have I ever done to you?" he growled around the gag.

She chuckled maliciously, leaning against him. "You're distracting me. Can't let you catch me with my guard down like you did Vinnie." She claimed his mouth with more force than before. "But that gag makes it hard to have any fun."

"Then take it off."

"And have you shout? You already too talkative as it is." But she reached up and removed the gag anyway. Before he could react, she slid the gun up until its barrel was pressed against his lips. "Fun's over."

The lass aforementioned turned and crept slowly and stealthily up behind the other goon, apparently called 'Vinnie'. She held the pistol to the back of his head. "Drop. Your. Weapon," she growled, punctuating it with an audible click as she pulled the safety back. He did without question, gun clattering loudly and immediately to the ground. "Money too. Good. Now go." He nodded and hurried away.

Meanwhile, James was attempting to talk his way through the situation. "What will you gain by killing me?"

"You had weapons like you a fighter. You was keepin' watch when nobody else looked like they cared. You're the kind of guy who'd come after us. It's easier if I get rid of you now before you end up a threat to the rest of the gang."

"Then...why the kiss?"

"Because you so damn hot." He opened his mouth to continue, but she shoved the barrel as far into his mouth as it could go. "Shut up already, or I'll make you." He gagged on it, but she didn't remove it. "Too bad. You was such a pretty face, too." She stood back as though to clear herself of the certain gore, and pulled back the safety on her gun. But she hesitated. In that time, there was a metallic click, and the cold muzzle of a handgun was pressed against the woman's neck.

"Leave. Him. Alone," came a growl with such thunder in it that the woman decided to comply, dropping her gun and stepping aside. Just in time, too, for James' gagging had brought up his last Caribbean meal and he vomited violently onto the cement, gasping for breath as he continued to retch, coughing and sputtering, and collapsing against the pole. His lower lip was bleeding from the pressure of the gun, the crimson running down his chin and so to his throat. The woman stepped farther away to give him some space, and Ames looked at him worriedly. Taking the girl's averted attention as dismissal, the lady started to edge away. She froze when a low laughter echoed around the bridge. It was as if seeing James' blood had put her in a vengeful frenzy. "You really think I'm gonna let you go, don't you?" she growled. "It's either jail or death, wench," the lass purred dangerously, whipping out her cell phone, handgun still carefully aimed.

"Amy," came a hoarse voice. She looked over to see James, completely unmoving but for his panting. He made an attempt to shake his head, but the only movement ensuing was a quirk of the eyebrow.

But she understood the message. Never taking her eyes off the man collapsed against the pole, she waved the handgun in vague dismissal. The woman understood, and, glancing at James, she fled. Ames did not watch her go, nor check to see that she had gone, but instead traveled over to her nephew, still holding the firearm by the handkerchief. She lifted it, but, contrary to the dismayed assumptions and cries of the group, she went around the back of the pole. She murmured to James to keep his mouth and eyes shut. Taking careful aim, she pulled the trigger. There was a dull clap, a clatter of cement as it exploded from the impact of the bullet, and the clink of chains as they dangled against the metal of the pole. Arms freed, James slid to the ground and sat motionless, eyes glazed with pain. She reached out and cupped his cheek in what she hoped was a comforting manner, gun falling forgotten to the ground. "J-James?" He blinked slowly, and came wearily back to life. Her eyes, burning with unshed tears, asked the silent question.

"I had to," he managed, voice cracking. "It was either me or everyone... Think in the rules of...of good business...or a good trade...Give one...receive many... Ahh!" His face screwed up in pain and he clutched at his leg, unable to ignore his discomfort any longer.

"What? What's wrong?" she asked, pushing down the panic that rose like bile in her throat, though already knowing the answer.

"It's been dislocated...," he puffed.

"Is there anything I can do?" He nodded, and instructed her on what to do. Uncertainty flickered across her face like the flames in a hearth. "What if I'm not doing it right?"

He blinked understandingly. "If I'm in worse pain, you're doing it right," he assured her. With careful but firm movement and manipulation, following his instruction exactly, she moved his knee, and then his kneecap back into their proper places. He cried out, gasping for breath. "Well done," he choked.

"Will you be all right?"

"I just need some rest." Ames frowned. That hadn't been what she meant. Knowing him, he'd be physically recovered within a few days. But his mental and emotional recovery...But she let the subject alone. He was right. He needed rest.

"And you look about to freeze!"

"It's fine," he murmured exhaustedly. "Let it be."

"And you accustomed to the Caribbean? We get you warm as soon as possible." He looked reluctant. She looked back to everyone else, expecting an offer for help, but the chaperones were desperately trying to calm their nearly hysterical charges and contain the vengeful males in their company. "Let me help you to the van at least."

"If you insist," he nodded. She helped him to his feet, allowing him to lean heavily upon her shoulder as he kept his weight off the injured leg. Together, they made slow progress toward the van.

Seeing the pain he was in sent Ames recoiling into the depths of her mind to think. _Someone should have seen this coming_, she thought angrily, before remembering with a bitter pang the vision she had experienced. _I should have been able to stop this. ...I wonder why she hesitated like that? That was really lucky._ "That was really low," she grunted furiously. "Anyone who does that sort of thing should—"

"Reason's got more to do with it, I think," James interrupted. "She lost her child in the same manner that you might have lost me. I don't think I've ever witnessed such a pain as this that it made someone so desperate that they would do anything to bring their child back. By selfish means I have seen many such acts, but for grief, I never have."

"How do you know?" she asked, somewhat mystified, though her anger still burned irately within her.

"It's amazing what you see in the depths of a person's eyes when such an act is being attempted." He fell silent, and both pondered. "Though I cannot fathom why anyone would think that such an act would bring back a loved one," he murmured as he leaned against the van, the girl sliding open the door for him. "Although I suppose she did not believe it either, or I certainly would not be standing here now. It's a curious thing, what happens in a person's mind when driven by desperation."

"She may have been 'driven by desperation', but it was still the complete wrong way to go." He nodded agreement, and eased into the van with a grunt. "It won't be much warmer in here, but it's shelter from the wind at least, and it's more comfortable to rest on." He nodded again, pulling up his coat around him. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No, no. You go on. I don't want to distract you from your mission."

"Are you sure? I mean...all right then." She left the van, returning to the cold, sliding close the door behind her, and strode back to the huddle of shaken Christians.

"Is he all right?" "What was that all about?" "Oh my Gawd." "Why didn't you call the police?" "What were you going to do with that gun?" plagued the group of her.

She looked up as this last question from where she had been trying to burn a hole in the cement with her eyes. "Some of the best _bluffing_ I will ever have done in my life," was her answer with a weary smile.

"And what if they didn't buy the bluff?" another chaperone asked seriously. It was strange not to see even a trace of cheerfulness among the group of Christians. "What would you have done then?"

The girl merely laughed softly, shrugging helplessly at him with a shake of her head. "Lord knows," she murmured, smile quickly fading.

"We should call the hospital," somebody suggested.

"No need," Ames cut in quickly. "_She_ did not do anything important, and James is insisting that he only needs to rest his leg." Everyone exchanged uneasy or uncertain glances. "Trust me. ...Trust him."

Scott stepped forward and placed a hand on her trembling shoulder in reassurance. "Sorry about all of this."

"Why? It's not your fault. You couldn't have foreseen this. No one could have." _Except me_, she added mentally, with a stab of guilt.

But Scott looked consoled. "Is there anything we can do?"

She thought a moment, eyes growing distant and unfocused. Deafening silence followed. "Pray," she managed at last.

The young pastor nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at the group. "I think we've had more than enough for tonight. Everyone back to your vans."

Everyone began to disperse, eerily quiet, chatter absent, all looking shaken to the core. "Do not let this discourage you," the girl said aloud with a voice more confident than her heart or mind. She gestured off in the direction the two thugs had gone. "Exhibit 'A'. Exactly why we're here. To help people who may be as desperate as that. Maybe to help ease that desperation, before they turn to such risky actions. We're on a mission. We can't forget that." There were murmurs of agreement, and all went back to their vans. At her own van, she warned everyone to try and be quiet. "I think he's asleep," she relayed a premonition via her intuition to them. They quietly opened the door to see the sleeping form, enveloped by his blue naval coat, curled up across the back row. Well, that was three seats taken. "We'll manage," she murmured to the uncertain-looking others. They nodded and filed in. She took a seat on the floor beside his head. The other four girls took the two seats in the middle row, all being good enough friends to sit in one another's laps. Kris and Mrs. Kel climbed in last, turning to Amy to make sure she had settled. But with such the intense emotion that she watched him sleep, they did not interrupt her train of thought. She reached out and gently wiped a small tussock of hair from his forehead, unaware of the several pairs of eyes watching her. Had they looked upon the action with any eyes other than those of teenagers, they might have identified such a tender act as that of a caring mother. And thus she sat with him, watching him as the vans sped off into the night, leaving a scorched mark in the cement where they had been standing.

* * *

There you have it! I don't think I'll ever be fully satisfied with this chapter, but each time I rewrite it, I feel like it's getting closer. See you next week!

Review?


	3. Comfort Food

Oh wow, I only just realized I never updated on Sunday. Not very motivated to continue the revamp with no feedback coming in, but I suppose I can understand since nothing major has changed yet. That's all later. For now, enjoy the nostalgia.

**Chapter Three: Bagels, Cookies, and Tarzan**

When both parties had returned to the base, the group that had not been present were notified to be on their toes for a potentially dangerous gang presumptuous enough to attempt a public mass robbery. Dinner was prepared and served---but Amy didn't eat with them in the lounge area. She did not eat at all. She merely sat up in the boys' room, leaning against a bunk occupied by her relative as he slept.

James' brow creased in unconscious nightmarish horror, and he murmured inaudibly before bolting upright into wakefulness. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, and his shoulders trembled. Where was he? This certainly wasn't anywhere he remembered. What happened? He put his head in his hands, breathing heavily. The pain in his leg had come back suddenly, and he had been unprepared. A warmth engulfed him like a hug, and he suddenly felt secure, as if he were back in his mother's arms, a child comforted by his loving parent after a bad dream. A soft, comforting voice sang gently to him if sweet tones: "Come stop your crying, it'll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry."

"For one so small, you seem so strong," he picked up the song for that single line, as if stating a fact about her.

"My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm," she reassured him. "This bond between us can't be broken." He knew she would be referring to any shame he might feel over the incident. "I will be here, don't you cry. Cause you'll be in my heart. Yes, you'll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forevermore. You'll be in my heart, no matter what they say." Rumors and stories and constant mention of things better left unmentioned would be floating around him for the remainder of his stay. "You'll be here in my heart, always."

"Always," he repeated, touching one of the gentle hands hugging him. "I had figured such an odd song would have come from this world."

"She sang it to you, didn't she?"

"So many times, as if she knew her time with me would be short."

"I imagine so. You picked up that key change exactly."

"Thanks, pet." She just smiled and came around to be in front of him on the bunk and they embraced.

"We should eat before they leave us to starve for the night. Besides, I owe you a cookie."

"You never did tell me what that was."

"You'll find out soon enough. Are you well enough to take the steps?"

"I'll take it easy on the leg, I promise."

"They're pretty steep and kinda narrow."

"I'll manage. I broke a leg once on a mountain in the Southern Americas. We still managed to climb down those rocky crags and make it back to port in one piece."

"All right, maybe you _can _make it down there. But what about back up?"

"As I said: I will manage. I contrived to get up here in the first place, after all."

"Are you sure?"

He placed his big hand gently on top of her head. "Aye. You're beginning to sound like the Governor."

"That old dog? How?"

"All the uncertainty...and the caring for others, certainly, if only a bit too much. He always did make me stay abed an extra week after I was supposed to be released whenever I was injured in the line of duty."

"Like a long lost father of sorts."

"Yes. Actually, I—when we first met on the passage from London, he sort of took me in, like a son or something. And once he became governor, I was in his house almost more than I was in my own, as if he didn't think I could care for myself properly." He took a deep breath. "I shall miss that man..."

"What? Is he all right?" Ames cocked her head in concern.

"He's fine," he replied a little too quickly. "—but I won't be seeing him again. Not any more. Since I betrayed the Navy. I can never go back."

"Well no more gloomy thoughts, hey?"

"Agreed," he nodded.

She helped him up and they proceeded carefully downstairs. As they reached the bottom, they were confronted by the mass of teenagers as they headed upstairs for bed. Yeah, it was that late. Amy glanced at her watch, surprised. Had that much time already gone by? "I'll be up later," she told one of the female advisors, nodding to her nephew. The elder nodded understandingly and continued upward. "All right, time for some grub." James made a face and was about to say something when she added: "It's an expression," and his mouth snapped shut. But as it turned out, the dinner foods had been put away. All that as left was the tiny snack bar that was always out. She grabbed a packet of mini chocolate chip cookies and headed down to the couches in the lounge area, and he carefully followed. "All right, cookeh time." She opened the aluminum pouch and fished out one of the small cookies.

James gave her a reluctant look. "Do I really have to, pet?"

"Yes. Yoouu dooo," she said firmly, in a 'crazed Squidward' kind of way. His expression became that of bewildered concern, and he quickly popped the treat into his mouth before she exploded or something. And chewed. "Well?"

"It's sweet."

"Yah, I kinda figured that," she grinned. "I meant do you like it?"

He shrugged, swallowing. "Sure. Why not."

Her grin grew cheesey. "I knew you would. If there's one thing I know about genetics, it's that a sweet tooth is always passed on." And with that, she polished off most of the bag, finally handing the remaining cookies to him to finish.

"So then, be that they are as sweet, they can't be healthy."

"Too true." And James laughed at this. "Heh. I guess I must sound like Jack does abut his rum."

"No no. Jack would be defending the healthiness of his beloved beverage, likely saying something along the lines of 'mother's milk' or 'the elixir of life' and such." Both thought a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Typical Jack."

"Hmmm," he agreed. And so they stayed up late into the night, talking about families and friends and past experiences and dreams and so on, before finally retiring to their bunks for some snoozing.

James settled into the foreign worm they called a 'sleeping bag', which had been loaned to him, and sighed, wondering what else there was to discover in this strange and new world.

Amy curled up in her blue sleeping bag on a top bunk and smiled to herself as she thought of what the next day would hold in store for her nephew. With a mental giggle, she drifted off to sleep.

—————

The next morning found Amy waking at ten of eight (somewhat late for her, though considered early for everyone else) to help set up breakfast. She went swiftly and silently down the steep stairs to the pantry area, where she grabbed all sorts of breakfast foods and brought them out to set up in the meal area at the small upper level of the lounge. She nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping half the cereal boxes, when a figure sprawled out on one of the couches came into view. She had expected to be alone! The head turned and she saw it was James. "Amy? Are you all right?"

She set down the rest of the food on one of the tables and took a calming breath. "You startled me," she replied with a nervous laugh.

"I'm only sitting here." Reading, so she observed.

"Well, I didn't expect anyone else to be down here." She proceeded to pick up the fallen food items and organize them all neatly on the table.

"What's that you've got, pet?"

"Breakfast. I'm on morning duty, so I'm down here early to get it ready for everybody when they wake up."

James looked out the window. "Early? It's nearly six."

"Actually, it's almost eight. Days are a lot shorter in the winter up here. Sun rises later."

"Almost eight, you say? ...And this is considered 'early?'" His eyebrows rose.

"By some. Or many." She shrugged. "I dunno, I guess this part of the world doesn't have the need to get up that early anymore. Less to do I guess."

"That's interesting." He went back to reading.

"Hey Ellie."

"Yes?"

"Where did you get the book from?"

"I keep it with me at all times."

"It's one of her diaries, isn't it?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Whenever I read them, I feel like I _almost_ know her. I can hardly remember her from my childhood anymore. Just that one day, when she was..." he broke off.

Amy appeared by his side and gathered him into a comforting embrace. "Try not to think about it, love."

"I can't help it, Amy, it's all I've got!" He took a calming breath. "Besides, there are enough days I have drowned out," he continued with emphasis. "If any are to overflow into conscious thought, it will be the only one of any significance."

"Fine," she replied understandingly. A few of the kids were beginning to trickle in for breakfast. She rose to get something for herself before it would get too crowded. "Can I get you anything to eat?"

"Even if I say 'no', it still won't stop you. So I believe that makes it a 'yes' even if what I mean is the opposite." That was almost Jack-like. Creepy. He flashed a smile at her, which she returned, before turning and taking the steps two at a time. She returned with two bowls full of something, two glasses of milk, and a couple of saucers with large round rings on them.

"All right, I'll bite; what are they?"

"Bagels."

"And—?"

"With cream cheese spread, cereal—also somewhat unhealthy—with milk, and more milk to drink."

"You sure like you dairy," he muttered. "But then I suppose if you didn't, you wouldn't like cheese so much."

"You know me too well. I think you'll like almost all of this; it's not too bad."

"'Almost' all of it?"

"Well yah. What good are Lucky Charms once you've eaten all the little marshmallows?" He took a spoonful of said cereal and grimaced, swallowing reluctantly. "What?"

"Is there such a thing in your world as 'too sweet?'"

"Oh. Wow...Sorry, James, I forgot how much of an adjustment this must be for you. Here, try the bagel. It's not sugary at all." He managed to consume it without making a face. "Sorry. Almost everything in this country is covered in sugar."

His eyebrows rose. "Everything?!"

"Eh...Pretty much. Ours is the country with the biggest sweet tooth. It's either covered in sugar or swimming in grease." That was putting it lightly. "Oh, and I should warn you—you might have some trouble understanding a lot of people—I know I do. Philadelphia is famous for—"

"—For its 'mumble,' right? I imagine that's the idiocy that was spilling from those vagabonds last night."

"Aye."

"I'll be on the lookout."

"Don't you mean 'hear-out?' Or actually, now that I think about it, it should be 'listen-out.'"

He smiled and tousled her hair. "You try too hard, pet."

"Nah, I'm just being literal."

"You haven't changed a bit."

"It's been six months. What is there to change?" They exchanged grins and went back to eating.

It was as everyone was chmoozing that there came the announcement that it was time to get dressed and ready for the day's work. Ames grinned cheesily at him. "Let's put you to work and see what you can do."

"Oh no," he moaned in good humor. "Should I be worried?"

"Is your leg all right?"

"I'll manage."

"Then uh...nope. Nothing at all to worry about, nada, zippo, nein, FÜNF!" And before he had time to look bewildered, she had bounded off to get dressed. He looked ceilingward for a moment, as if asking why again he had come.

* * *

I have to say, looking back on these early chapters is very refreshing, and at the same time a little disconcerting, because I see how out of character James was. I have tried to alleviate this through his language and his exchanges with Amy, but I know he's still a little off. He's better than before, though, and I'm happy about that---and don't worry, he'll be much better in the future installments. I've already got that all planned out.

So: feedback? Please?


	4. Contradictions Taste Good

Woot, it's 4 am, and I'm updating. Listening to the Grassland Chant from the Lion King musical. Getting to see it--that was one of the highlights of my life. ANYWAY, back to the story. Enjoy the next chapter, and wait with baited breath for the newer and more drastically revised parts.

Don't sue.

**Chapter Four: You Were Contradicting Yourself Before You Had Anything to Contradict**

James hobbled carefully down the stairs in a green-plaid flannel shirt and jeans, loaned to him by one of the more elderly chaperones who was about the same build as him and still wore plaid. However, James Norrington in plaid flannel was a good combination. (Wink wink.) He met the Youth Group in the Lounge, and listened as they were told what they were doing this morning. "This building houses a lot of mission groups, but we also use the downstairs for some people to stay. It's a real mess down there, and we've got to get it cleaned up. You're gonna split into two groups. One will make sandwiches for the homeless, and the other will get things shipshape downstairs."

"Shipshape?" James muttered to the lass, who stood at his shoulder. "I didn't know this would be a nautical task."

"Sarcasm noted, but it's just an expression where you come from, too, so I'm not even gonna bother." He smirked.

"Now please divide into your groups, and let's get to work!"

"Wellp, I'm not much of a fan of sandwiches, and I'm pretty sure you have no idea what a sandwich even is, so methinks we're on cleanup duty downstairs. Watch it on the steps—they're treacherous."

"Whatever you say," he shrugged, happier to do manual labour even if he couldn't bend his knee.

They made their way downstairs to the basement, and followed the rest of their group through the cramped rooms filled with members of the lunch group gathering the jellies for sandwiches, to a more open area. It was a plain room with a gray concrete floor, and blue cloth on the walls and low ceiling to cover the piping. Christmas lights and netting and such were strung from said low ceiling in an effort to liven things up a little. There were six narrow cots, pushed up to a pile of these-and-those that could be found in an average bedroom at the other end of the room. They needed new mattresses, and were to be organized into their own little living areas, each with its own nightstand, lamp, and mini-bureau. "There are mattresses under the bunk beds up in the bedrooms. A couple of you head up and find some clean ones and bring them down." Amy and a couple of the other girls volunteered and raced up the steps to the girls' bedroom. They checked under the beds, and sure enough they found some mattresses, which they heaved out and down to the main level, where a couple of the boys in their group offered to take them down to the basement.

Amy led the way back upstairs. "But there aren't any more mattresses in our room," said one of the girls.

"Maybe there'll be some in the boys' room," suggested the other.

They continued up to the boys' level where they paused at the door. "What about the 'no purple?'" asked the first. Amy rolled her eyes and led the way in, soon spotting the mattresses and pulling them out. Once downstairs, they managed to maneuver the bulky things down the basement steps and through the cramped jelly rooms. Upon appearing in the 'bedroom', Amy's mattress was taken from her by another and she could see that things were shaping up nicely. The narrow beds had been organized three to one wall and three to the opposite, so that they were facing each other. Each had its own miniature living quarters, and she could see things were almost done. "Hey, we've got an extra mattress," someone said

"That's okay, we found another bedframe," replied a chaperone. She spotted James limping toward said chaperone and the remaining pile of 'these-and-those' that had not been used. Standing and maneuvering on only one leg, he and Mr. Dewy, the chaperone, lifted the frame from the pile and placed it in an open space on the wall. The mattress and bedroom items followed, and everyone stood back to admire their work. "Well, all that's left now is to sweep up."

Amy looked around and groaned inwardly, seeing what he meant. The job was only half-done! The floor was littered with plaster and debris and trash and other such rubbish. With a sigh, she set to sweeping.

—————

It was around one in the afternoon when Ames, James, and their group emerged from the basement-turned-bedroom to find the sandwich group on the main level nearly finished. "Lunch time," she murmured as Scott was offering the extra sandwiches as a meal. "What's this, turkey sandwiches, too?" she asked aloud. "Hey James, do you like turkey?"

"Yes."

"Processed turkey?"

"Erm..."

"Moo. I guess we'll just have to find out, then, won't we?" Before he could reply, she snatched two sandwiches and began to make her way down to the lounge. James followed wearily. She handed one to him as he sunk into the couch beside her, and took a bite out of her own.

"All right, everyone," Scott addressed the group amid their lunches. "After lunch you're going to have a little free time. Make sure you're ready in time for when we leave tonight, though, all right?"

"What are we doing later?" James turned to his aunt.

"Delivering the lunches to the homeless. Now eat up. It's going to be a cold one."

"Right."

"_Really_ cold."

"Okay..."

"Like, 'Barbossa-cold', savvy?"

"Cold as death?" he asked, looking somewhat concerned.

"Er...," she shrugged, "I dunno, sounded cool though."

James only rolled his eyes and went back to consuming his sandwich.

"Oh wait," Scott was doubling back, looking somewhat embarrassed, as if remembering something. "Everyone, I forgot: we're gonna go into the city instead of free time. We'll give you all the details later when you're done eating. Just be sure you're all ready to go in maybe a half hour, okay?" There were mumbled replies, and he strode off to do...whatever it is he was supposed to be doing.

James looked at Amy again. "Into the city?"

She shrugged, eyebrows raised, shaking her head a little. "I guess so. You'd think we were staying for longer than a weekend with everything they've got planned for us to do, you know?" He nodded, taking another bite out of his sandwich. She sighed, leaning her head back on the couch. "I can't wait til this weekend is over."

"Why?"

"I mean, I'm good with the manual labor and stuff, I just don't like to do it in the cold. Nor am I a big fan of the city. Too many people, too much pollution, too much general violence."

"But you're here with friends, aren't you?"

"No. My best friend is Jewish, so obviously she wouldn't be here on a Christian trip, my other close friend is Atheist, most of my Christian friends don't even go to my church, and finally, my closest church friend is a grade lower than me, and is still in the Junior High, and this is a Senior High trip, so she couldn't come."

She had so many friends, and yet she couldn't make nice with anyone here? "Well...you've got me."

"And thank goodness for that!" She flashed a grin at him. "Now come on, let's finish our lunch and get you set up with something to keep you warm outside." James gave her a withering look that said he didn't appreciate being ordered around, then suddenly chuckled. "What?"

"Sometimes you really do act like a mother, do you know that?"

She returned the laugh. "I don't know why. Maternal instinct, I guess."

"It's odd, seeing that you hate children." He stopped to think for a few moments. "Nice to know how much you care, pet."

She pointed at him, eyebrows lowered. "Watch it." He ducked his head with a smile and finished his sandwich.

Within the half-hour, lunch as a whole was over, and the group were now in their specific vans on a drive into another part of the city. They had each been given two dollars. The idea was to do something nice for just about any person on the street, though the focus was mainly on the homeless. One could...buy a rose and give it to someone. One could...pool his or her money with others to take a homeless person to McDonald's (or something relatively cheap) and buy him or her a meal. The list can go on.

Upon arriving at their destination, everyone was split into four small groups, each led by at least one chaperone, and moved off in all directions. The chaperone for Amy's squad was Mr. Dewy. Elderly, bearded, balding of the head, mostly gray, little pepper. Very friendly. The trek through the city began.

For a good while they walked through the cold, until, after what seemed like a frozen eternity, time was up. They had not seen a single homeless person while they were out. _Prolly a good sign,_ thought Amy. She looked to James, who looked like he was trying very hard not to look cold. "Poor thing," she cooed.

"I'll be fine, so long as we get to some warmth soon."

"Well, time's up, so yeah, I think we're going back for a little while, now."

"Good," he said with vibrating jaw, teeth beginning to chatter. The Youth Group met up again, and Scott repeated her words. "So, ah...have you any ideas what is happening tonight?"

"I think we're handing out bagged lunches to the homeless."

"Oh not more of that," he scoffed.

"James!" And she flicked him in the ear. "It was once your job to help those in need, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but—."

"Same thing here."

He gave her a hard look. "Far from the same, dear. Far from it." His brow creased and he suddenly looked confused. "Pet, what is a 'bagged lunch?'"

_Subtle change of subject,_ she thought sarcastically. "It's a sandwich, juice, and snack in a brown paper bag."

"Ah."

"You know, you should really keep your voice down when you're scoffing this stuff."

"What—?"

"—Because the only reason they're letting you stay is because you're supposed to be helping us, not discouraging us."

"I'm not trying to discourage anyone."

"You may not be _trying_ to, but if someone were to hear you talking like that, especially some of these kids who are a bit timid when it comes to this sort of thing, or who are looking for any excuse not to do it, like I would if I were less mature, they might follow your example instead! You have power, kid. You as an adult influence us as teenagers, savvy?"

"Fine, I won't talk about it. But do not make the mistake of assuming that I have changed my mind in any way, do you hear?" It wasn't a fight. It was more of a debate. The dear reader need not worry that some rift was forming due to this mutual disagreement. In fact, it felt quite good to argue for both parties, for some odd reason or other.

"You'll come around," she muttered under her breath, a gleam in her eyes. "I'll make sure of it."

His expression grew worried. "You've got that look again. Shall I fear for myself, or run around in circles as you used to do?" And just like that, the tension was gone.

"I'd pay to see you of all people running in circles like a crazed maniac."

"Crazed maniac." He put his finger to his chin in Jack-like thought. "Sounds...interesting...If _you'd _be willing to pay, who knows who else would? I could make a living out of that."

"Ehh..."

"If I ever get back home, of course," he added quietly.

"But you won't."

"What?"

"You said it yourself: you can't go back to your home. Sure to your world, but not home. So!" she added, finding a loophole, "Technically, thou art homeless as well."

He snorted. "P-preposterous." The shivering had grown bad enough that his speech was affected.

"Is it, oh cold-one-in-borrowed-clothing?" He froze, eyes smouldering. "Hmm," Amy continued, pacing around him in mock scrutiny. "No home, no money, borrowing clothes and food...you're really not so much better off than they are."

"No," he denied it.

"Yes."

"But I... That's n-not..." he trailed off, eyes focusing on a point on the barely-visible horizon, thinking hard.

_Got him now,_ she thought triumphantly.

The silence stretched on and on, even through the ride back to base, during which he spent the whole ride merely staring blankly at hist calloused palms which rested in his lap. Some free time followed, in which Todd retrieved her CD player and the Tarzan soundtrack. She found her nephew in the lounge, staring angrily at the floor, still trying to come up with a response. "I just don't know," he admitted as she joined him.

"Don't worry. Everything will be all right." She slipped the headphones over his ears.

"Wh-...what?" He looked at her confusedly. "What is this?"

"Shhh. Just listen." She pressed a button, and 'You'll Be in My Heart' began to play. She had figured in would calm him down a bit. She had expected him to take a joke, but instead he had taken it to heart. She wondered very much why the heck something like this would get to him, but she didn't mention it. The song went on and she saw him begin to relax.

He removed the headphones as the song came to an end. "Thanks, dear." He sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I've been a bit jumpy lately."

"And I understand why." His brow creased questioningly. "New world, new customs, new food, and so on. It's all new to you, and you just need time to adjust."

"No no. I think it's more than just that. I mean...for most of my life, I have had such strong beliefs. I find only now that I am such a hypocrite—that I contradict my own beliefs and concepts which I have always clung so tightly to."

"What?"

"Like this whole homeless ordeal. And my thoughts on the punishment of murderers." He laughed hollowly. They had both risen from the couch and moved off a few paces. "A murderer to murder the murderers."

"You're not a murderer!" she cried in but a whisper. "You were following the law!"

"Very technically, I was both following and breaking that law. I don't know anymore—," he broke off abruptly to scoot out of the way of a passing female chaperone. Anyone watching would have assumed he was being polite and moving out of her way—he seemed like a well-mannered cove to them. But Ames saw right through it. She had seen that flash in his eyes, she had sensed that explosion of emotion as he hastily moved away as though to avoid a poisonous reptile.

"James," she said suddenly, and he looked at her, breathing heavily as if the lady's presence had startled him. "You're afraid of women, aren't you."

* * *

I used 'savvy' in conversation today. It's been a while. Anyway, review? Please?


	5. Fearing the Inescapable

Happy Wizarding Independence Day! I just watched Master and Commander for the first time, and enjoyed it very much. It stayed true to the books, and in the places where they changed things to better the film's plot, they kept the same spirit of Patrick O'Brien's writing.

Finals week coming up, and then I get to go work at a zoo! w00t.

Someone owns this. That someone isn't me.

**Chapter Five:** **Fearing the Inescapable **

James scoffed. "What are you talking about, pet? I was merely moving out of her way."

She rolled her eyes and led him to a more secluded area (a.k.a. the pantry) and closed the door behind them. "You are. I can feel it."

"It's a good thing you're not in my world any more, or they might think you a witch again."

"Let's not deviate from the subject at hand, shall we?" He opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. "You've been all jumpy and stuff since yesterday. James, not all women are like that."

"I understand that. I do. It's just--Women have always been a source of discomfort. I can never get int their heads. I never know what they are thinking. It is like I can never trust them."

"You were never that way around me," she reminded him.

"I was when we first met, although you were stranger enough to me not to take notice. Your, er, flirtatious approach to winning me over was more unappealing than you thought."

"What? I never..." her eyes went large. "_Oh_. Right before we learned that we're related through Hannah."

He nodded. "Even so, you were different. You acted enough like a lad for my discomfort to fade as easily as it did."

"Hey!"

He went to the door, momentary humour fading, and opened it a crack to look out and watch his 'predators' chatting and chmoozing and laughing in the other room. "It occurs to me that no matter how well one knows another, there is always some dark, hidden secret, lying in wait to burst out and take victim those who get too close."

"All right, now you're just being paranoid."

He sighed. "I'll get over it soon enough. Women are unavoidable. And I'm _not_ afraid," he added defensively. "I am just wary."

"Right," came the reply, soaked with skepticism.

"Come on, now...I think it's time we were getting ready to leave," he replied with a slightly edgy voice.

"Subtle," she quirked an eyebrow. "But since you're right, I'll cut you some slack. Come on," and she dragged him off to go get ready.

By sunset, the Youth Group had moved to somewhere in West Philadelphia. Outside. In the Code Blue cold. Everyone was being organized into groups. And then they waited...

And waited...

And waited...

And while the length of time they were waiting was likely less than an hour, the cold made every moment seem to last much longer. Ames could no longer feel her legs, thanks to what Mr. Dewy called a 'lazy wind': instead of going around, it went right through you. "Any idea what the bejimminy we're waiting for?"

James, standing beside her, shrugged. "Your guess is better than mine."

Finally, a lady drove up. Todd heard her companion snort when the woman stepped out of her car, but only rolled her eyes and tried to ignore his reactions. Everyone was led all over this part of the city on foot. It was good to be moving again. Lord, was it good to be moving again! They were shown the rundown, poverish part of town, to describe it briefly. The street was bathed dimly in an orange glow. A train track ran directly over the road and buildings. Every once in a while, one of said mechanical beasties thundered overhead, causing several to startle, despite prior warning. They were shown the AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) Headquarters. Its sign was the only neon in sight, in sharp contrast with the colourful downtown Center City area. They were shown all sorts of things; given a tour of the living conditions, to put it simply. And, just as Amy's limbs were beginning to scream in complaint to the cold, they stopped around the corner of a building, sheltered from the wind. There, they met a man, African American ((A/N: To put readers wary of racism at ease, all the African American characters are typical of Philadelphia. A large portion of the population are of African descent.)), dressed in layers, eyes somewhat red, appearing old, a little grizzled, and none too cold. Everyone was gathered around him and their guidewoman.

The old man's name was Ed, so they all soon learned. He was a homeless man, and part of a close-knit ministry/community of homeless people. He had actually been able to make enough money to get himself out of homelessness and poverty, however he had chosen to stay homeless to continue his ministry. He gave them words of wisdom and words of prayer, motioning someone forward every once in a while to use as an example of his words, placing an arm around him or her as he would an old friend.

There was a certain charm about Ed that made him knowable. Just after meeting him, Amy felt like she had known him for a lifetime. He soon gestured for her to come to him, and he placed his arm around her like he had any other, and spoke about the need for prayer. Everyone in his community needed the prayers of others, he said—here, the group prayed—but so did everyone in hers. He gestured to a young man and said to her, "Now I want you to put your hand on him and pray for him."

It was Justin Kel, a boy her own age whom she wasn't particularly fond of, due to his acting like...well, like a teenage guy ((and here, the authoress shall make a face.)) But she prayed for him nonetheless. He bowed his head and she placed her hand upon it, and she began to pray. (Said prayer shall not be typed here for the sake of non-Christians, who are probably rolling their eyes and saying 'Get on with it'.) When she had finished, Ed called another two to him to pray for each other. And finally, when all he had called forward had prayed and been prayed for, he said: "Now you have prayed for the people. You have prayed for each other. Now pray for me." And the group gathered as close as they could get, so that each person could lay a hand upon him. They all bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and as a group began to pray.

"Guide him in you, oh Lord," was Amy's input. Silence followed the words of each person as everyone searched for the right words.

"Give him the strength and compassion to help those that need him," she was surprised to hear James add in.

Several others added to the pool of prayers, then Scott finally said a full prayer and ended with: "And all God's people said:"

"Amen."

Ed then bid them return to their cars and continue with the night's mission. They piled back into the vans—which seemed even colder than the outside air—and were on their way. "So, ah, remind me again what the point of that was?" James murmured.

"Enthusiasm boost. Get everybody pumped up and excited, you know?" They parked on a street and unloaded, students and chaperones, along with bag-lunches. They started down the street, following their guide, toward the subway. It had been said that those without homes shelter in the spacious subway stations when a Code Blue was in effect and dictated that they must be off the streets. A lot in this area actually preferred it to the homeless shelters, they were told.

Nearing the corner, they spotted an 'ambassador', so to speak. The first sign that this was the place. "Do you have any food? I'm very hungry, see..." Scott handed him a lunch. "Thank you, thank you, sir."

"That's why we're here," the young pastor smiled friendly.

"There are a lot of people down in the station," the homeless man pointed.

"Thanks, that's where we're headed." And the group began to head off once again.

A final "Thank you," followed them in their departure.

Coming down some stairs, they came upon the food courts of the junction of two corridors. It was surprisingly warmer underground, which momentarily confused the girl with her somewhat scientific/logical mind, as she first thought, _Well doesn't heat rise?_ The group continued through the food area, and Amy wondered to herself how often or easily someone could break into one of these restaurants out of desperation for food.

There were people here and there, and Amy wondered why her group wasn't stopping to feed them as well. However, that question was soon answered when they came upon a large room (to be described by detail rather than by name because the authoress is a ditz and has absolutely _no_ idea what the crocodile machine is called) which was white with plaster walls and ceiling which were cracked and paint peeling. There was an elevator across the room from the door, and a stairwell just through the doors in the far corner. And all around there were homeless people.

Scott greeted them warmly and sincerely, and a few welcomed the group. The Youth divided into two groups—one for lunches, one to hand out extra winter garments—and from there divided into groups of four or five, one chaperone per group plus Commodores. Ames, James, and Scott worked with the garment distribution. The three of them, plus the other three kids in their small-group, began their circuit around the room. Hats, gloves, and especially socks were in high demand, scarves following close behind, and blankets. Coats did not seem as popular—everyone had at least one—but eventually, the coats disappeared too.

James did his fair share of distributing also—even with a sincere smile when people thanked him. He was keeping his guard up around these ladies especially, but hid his distaste very well. The groups peered into the nearly-empty bag, and James reached in, pulling out the final item. It was a soft, fluffly rabbit toy. Just to hug it close would help keep you warm if you were small enough. He looked up to see a little girl watching, looking at said little bunny curiously. Desirously. He invited her over with a nod and stooped down to her level. "There you are," he gave her the toy. She looked at it with a pleased expression and hugged it tightly, then looked up at him with a huge smile, and jumped on him in an enthusiastic hug. She giggled into his chest, and after a moment, he returned the embrace, with a soft yet sincere chuckle. "You're welcome." He rose and led the lass hand-in-hand back to her mother. "Have a nice evening, ladies." And with a polite bow, he turned back to the youth group, who had now gathered in a circle, joining hands for prayer, led by John, another black homeless man, friend of Ed, who also played a large part in the Christian community here, and who had a young, friendly, and surprisingly well-trained rottweiler.

The prayer went up, and they turned to go. With an "oh!" James tripped over a person lying on the ground behind him that he had not seen. He picked himself up, dusting himself off and apologizing frantically. "Goodness! I'm terribly sorry, Madam!" For in fact, though the person's form was covered by a blanket, a woman's hair was indeed visible. She did not, however, respond; did not so much as even move. "Miss? Are you all right?" he asked with concern, stooping down to the person.

_Good for him,_ thought Amy, watching him. _He's really sucking it up._

"I'm fine thanks," came a curt reply.

James froze upon hearing her voice. It was a voice he was certain he would never forget. "You," he growled through gritted teeth, barely moving a muscle.

Hearing his reaction, said woman sat up, revealing her identity. He narrowed his eyes in affirmation. She gasped with recognition, eyes wide with—was that fear? Guilt? They glared at each other for long moments, and it was beginning to look like the man might strike her. With what seemed to be an extraordinary show of self control, James rose slowly and slunk out of the room.

"James!" Amy chased after him. A short way down the hall, away from everyone, she found him leaning against the wall, a hand on his face, breathing heavily in an attempt to control himself. "James?" she touched his arm gently, and he flinched before opening his eyes and realizing it was her.

"Wh...what's happened to me?"

"You had a traumatic experience. No one blames you for not wanting to deal with this."

"I deal with everything that gets thrown my way—I had a fear of ship battles and gunnery back when I first started out—but I never ran away from it."

"You were on a ship, love. There's no place to run." He didn't reply, just slid to the ground and rubbed his forhead, trying to force himself to relax and regain his composure. _Why is he like this?_ she wondered with concern. _This isn't like him at all. __He's like an animal acting out of instinct._

There was a noise, and she looked up to see Mikey, the young rottweiler, trotting over. With a whine, sensing James' distress, the dog nudged his arm. The man mumbled something into his hand, something like "Away, cur," and said nothing more. Puppy pawed at him, and a "Leave me _alone_," ensued. Finally, starting to get irritated, Mikey put his paws on the man's shoulder and proceeded to stick his nose in the nearest ear. "AHH! COLD!" James' head shot up and he fell over to one side. Immediately, the dog stood over him, covering his face with licks. He sat up just as John was approaching to collect his pet, and glowered at said slobbery beastie.

The lass didn't know whether to groan of to laugh, hoping that Mikey hadn't done the wrong thing. Her worry was in vain however, for James's glare soon broke with a smirk. The rottweiler gave a happy bark, and proceeded to sit on the former Commodore. "Now now, you're much too big to sit in my lap," he murmured good-naturedly, scratching the yearling behind the ears.

The beast leaned into the touch, tail wagging and tongue lolling happily. "My apologies, sir," he looked up at John. "I acted inappropriately."

"No, no, Mr. Norrington. Our apologies." The man had taken off his hat and was wringing it in his hands. "We all knew Elena was desperate, but we never knew she'd gotten in with that gang. She could have hurt someone."

"Well she didn't, I'll have you know, and either way it's all in the past now," he replied curtly, as if unhappy about being reminded again. "Now then, Amy, we should probably be off."

"Yeah, the guys are prolly waiting for us."

James looked at Mikey, eyebrow raised. "Do you mind?" Canine whined and licked his face. Ames laughed. Commodore blinked. "I guess so." And he pushed the dog off his lap, standing and dusting himself off. "Good night."

"Good night. Thank you both. God be with you."

"And also with you." The men shook hands, and with a final pat to Mikey's head, James and his young companion headed off.

As they were strolling back the way they had come, a sudden thought hit the girl. "James..."

"Yes?"

"...How old are you?" He hadn't exactly acted so adult just then, and she didn't know his age anyway.

He thought a moment, as though counting the days. "My thirtieth birthday was less than a fortnight ago," he offered.

She stopped in her tracks. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "But don't tell anyone," he added with a joke in his voice. "I had to lie about my age to be accepted into the Navy while I was younger than the rest."

She placed her hand dramatically over her heart. "Your secret's safe with me." _So young!_ thought she, not really understanding why she was so surprised.

And thus they continued onward, quiet conversation echoing gently behind them, fading without hurry into the conclusion of the chapter.

* * *

I've always liked this chapter, although I can't be sure why. Perhaps it was the ending, and perhaps it was the rewritten bits. All I know is that I began editing this chapter mid-Sunday afternoon, where updating would have been timely, and then moved back into my dorm after the weekend and didn't finish until ten-of-one in the morning, Monday. I got sidetracked. Mainly the Boondocks season premier...

Reviews and feedback? There are more noticeable differences this chapter!


	6. Surprise

Happy Mother's Day! Who likes Irish food? We had brunch at an Irish pub today, and although the food was good (espacially the potatoes and beef stew), it wasn't quite what I was expecting. I kept compating it to the breakfasts we had in Gallway and Co. Claire. But it was fun reminiscing, and the food was still tasty!

Going to get trained tomorrow to work at that zoo. Looking forward to it.

Not looking forward to getting sued. Don't own.

**Chapter Six: Discovery of an Unknown Secret**

They exited the subway station, and were about to pile into the vans when one of the small groups told Scott a man, coincidentally also named James, also another friend of Ed's, had not gotten a lunch. Since said group had not used their two dollars from earlier that day, they were going to take him out for a nice bite to eat. The van sped away, leaving the rest of them shivering in the cold to wait for their return.

It was within moments that a couple of the boys spotted a small Seven-Eleven across the boulevard, nestled between other much taller buildings, and soon gained permission from the adults to run across and get a snack. Amy elected to go along as well. She turned to James. "I know it's cold and now's a kind of fragile time, but I want you to stay here. I don't want you crossing the road." She suddenly blushed, and embarrassed smile sprouting. "I really _do_ sound like a mom. Okay, just a street as big as this, you understand?" He nodded, not tempted by the roaring vehicles speeding in both directions. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, no. I'm sure supper will be coming soon. You go on, pet," he smiled softly, shoving her gently in the direction of the store.

She flashed him a grin and hurried across the wide road in a break in the traffic. Once inside, she grabbed a bag of chips off the rack, payed for it, and began devouring said bag's contents. It seemed like only minutes later that Scott appeared in the store to collect them all.

——–

From there, they went straight to dinner. At a Vietnamese restaurant, so the kids could try something new. Upon gaining their seats, coats and jackets slung over the backs of the chairs, James leaned in with Amy. "Forgive the incessant questions, pet, but what, praytell, does 'Vietnamese' mean?"

"'Of Vietnam,'" she grinned cheesily, showing she was taking it one hundred percent literally.

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. What is Vietnam?"

"'Tis a country. At least in this world, and it wasn't called that until recently, and by recently, I mean _after_ colonial times, savvy?"

"Er—sure."

The food, no matter how different from what she was used to, Ames rather enjoyed. The same could not be said for many of the other girls, though a few tolerated it. The guys, being guys, didn't much care what the heck it was they were eating, so long as it was edible. The adults, being adults, had learned to enjoy such a wide variety of cusines that there was no cusine they truly disliked. Even James was managing not to make a face.

A group meeting in the base's lounge followed the three-course dinner, in which the kids shared their feelings before and after the day's activities. Amy was the third to raise her hand, and when called upon, she stood like the others had and spoke. "I was timid about all of this. Reluctant to participate, even. I just kept thinking 'Oh they're different, they're not like us,' but once I interacted with them, I realized they are normal people like any of us, just fallen on hard times and in need of a little help. I'm pretty glad I got to share in the experience."

Others rose and said similar things. They spent about twenty minutes on the topic before Scott stood, looking around at them all and asking if anyone else had anything to say.

Hesitating at first, but the with a flowing confidence, James rose also. "To say I have been completely honest would be to further mar the face of honesty." Amy's expression dropped. _Oh no..._ "I have in reality never done such as what we did today, and was instead invited by my dear friend to join in on the experience. Now, understand, I come from a place where social class is important. Thus, I came with a mind that I was above those people we helped today. Better than them. And I discovered that I have been a total and utter fool. I found that I am more like any of them than I could ever have imagined. I'm...glad I came."

A cheer and applause followed this as he sat again, and Amy imagined ascending strings growing and climaxing in inspirational melody. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Why are they cheering?"

"Because you are the definition of what this trip is about, and it has made you a better person for it. It's because you found it in yourself to discover new things not only about the people we helped, but also about yourself." They embraced and the girl's mental music crescendoed even louder. So full were her ears of that melody that she hardly noticed the cheering had stopped, and did not until James' hug suddenly tightened. Her eyes snapped open and the moment, along with the embrace, was lost, thus ending the need for the music. It was then that she noticed everyone was looking around apprehensively.

"What's up?" James looked ceilingward. "I mean, what's happening?"

"Did you not hear the music?" She blinked. "Amazing music, that filled the room."

"Hey, c'mon, guys—we'll figure it out later, let's end the night with a prayer first, shall we?" Scott offered. Thus they prayed, and the search for hidden speakers and such began.

Amy turned to James. "Can I talk to you?" And before he had a chance to answer, she was dragging him upstairs to the girls' bunk room. She sensed his discomfort about the room, but other than her sixth sense, he showed no signs of it, and they both sat on a vacant lower bunk.

"Now what's this about?"

"That music we heard down there?"

"Yes...?"

"I was imagining it."

He chuckled lightly. "No you weren't. We all heard it."

"That's just the thing: I was imagining it in my head before everyone heard it out loud."

His expression dropped. "What?"

"Yeah."

"So you're saying that the music came from... you?"

"No. I'm saying that I _think_ the music came from me." James took a deep breath, leaning back. "What? What's that look you're giving me?"

"It's just that..." he shut his mouth with a shake of his head, clearly not wishing to share his revelation.

"Please, James," she pleaded. If people could suddenly hear what went on inside her head, then she was afraid.

"I may have an answer," he answered carefully. "But I'll want to test it out before I jump to any conclusions." He thought for a few moments more. "Think of a song. Any song at all. And concentrate on it like you were just now," he ordered as he rose, facing her.

"Wh...okay." She squeezed her eyes shut, '_Two Hornpipes'_ beginning to play in her head, and she willed the music to become real. As she concentrated, James limped to the door and shut it. His hand still on the doorknob, he jumped when a lively jig he recognized from Tortuga began to play from nowhere. Ames blinked her eyes open and looked around, smiling as she listened to that fun little tune. "Wow."

James, who instead had his ear pressed to the door, suddenly looked at her. "Stop the music. Someone is coming." And she did, though she did not quite know how. Simultaneously, he opened the door to meet Scott. "Master Braschevitz, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

Scott stepped in, though blocking the way so that the door could not be closed again. "Listen, I know you probably haven't heard about this, but we have a rule, see—."

"'No purple?' Yes, I have heard of it."

"And you know what it means, right?"

"Er...well..."

"That's a no," Amy called from one corner of the room, where she appeared to be searching for something.

"Well, see, the idea is that the guys stay out of the girls' room and the girls stay out of the guys' room."

"Well I knew that. I meant that I didn't know how the colour purple fit into all this."

Scott's eyebrows rose. "Really? Oh. Then why was the door closed?"

"We were searching for the cause of the phenomenon downstairs. I had found something behind the door," he improvised quickly, leaning down to pick up an object, "and had to close it to get to this." He held up a metal-and-plastic gun-like device.

"Um...James? That's a hair dryer," Ames said helpfully.

His triumphant expression dropped. "...Oh." Then, fascination. "Really?"

"No, no. I found it. Somebody left these on." And she held up a couple of portable speakers, an mp3 player dangling from the attached wires.

"Oh okay," Scott bobbed his head. "I'll go tell everyone so they can stop looking." He turned to James. "Just remember; no purple."

"Right," Norrington nodded obediently...not that he would actually be obedient, however... With a positive grin, the young pastor left them. The former-Commodore then turned to the girl. "That was a good job you found that just when you did."

She grinned her cheesey grin...Nervous grin. "Yeah, about that..."

"Hmm?"

"Well it wasn't exactly there at first, and I was just really, _really_ hoping I could find a good excuse and I just kind of...found it and..." she trailed off, and they stared at each other in a shocked silence.

"Amy..." he began, but the words hitched in his throat. Hesitantly, reluctantly, he forced them out. "You might be a witch after all."

"A witch—?"

"–No," he cut her off breathlessly. "No spells were cast... Then a Sorceress."

* * *

Whoa dude! What?! What?! If this is your first time through the story, I'll be this came as a surprise! Heeheehee. And for those of you who've stayed with this for a while, the future of the story will integrate more of the Pirates world and characters into it that the previous version!

Review please?


	7. Experimenting

Okay, I was getting bored. The days without zoo work are really and annoyingly devoid of anything interesting. In other news, Preakness today!

Enjoy the chapter. Don't mind me being moronic.

**Disclaimer****:** It is my intention to commandeer some of these characters, pick up a plot in Tortuga, write, picture, ponder and otherwise publish my weasely black guts out.

**Chapter Seven: Experimenting with the Unknown**

She fell back, stunned. "No way."

James reached out a hand as though to help her up, then swiftly withdrew it as though to avoid touching her. "Well it must be true; there's no other explanation for what you say just happened." She looked up at him, eyes glistening with unexpected tears. He suspected it was because she was afraid of what she was—a fear he shared. He could not dislike this girl who was virtually his only family, no matter what kind of person she was, witch or not, and so swallowed his discomfort and gathered her into a hug, stroking her hair soothingly. "Shh..."

"I'm so sorry!" she began to sob softly into his shirt front.

"What? Why ever—?"

"It's my fault your mother was accused of witchery. It's my fault she's gone, and my fault you had to go through so much pain. It's all my fault..."

His hand went from stroking her hair to rubbing her back. "There there..."

She gasped for breath, her nose having been squished into his chest, turning her head to listen to his heartbeat, sobbing still. "Where? _Where?_"

"I do not blame you. I know for a fact my mother was no witch. She was only accused because she had a few possessions from this world which seemed rather, ah, unworldly—pun not intended." This quieted her somewhat. "And besides," he went on, "if it weren't for you, she would never have been able to enjoy life for even the length that she did. And... I wouldn't be here either; so no one day's head start for Sparrow."

"C-c-captain," she managed shakily. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be."

"—I just can't help but feel responsible." And she continued to cry.

He shushed her gently when an idea came to him. "Come stop your crying, it'll be all right," he sang to her in a gentle baritone. "Come take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don't you cry..."

"James, I never realized..." she sobbed, though beginning to quiet down.

"What?"

"...You're a good singer!"

"Well, I sang it for you, pet."

"No, I mean really—it's like you're a professional."

He continued to sing, hoping to calm her. It was some time into the second verse when he was cut off by Scott poking his head in the door. "Hey, we're playing some games downstairs, d'you wanna come down and join—?" He stopped upon seeing the situation. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

James gave him an embarrassed look. "She's being homesick for me." It wasn't _so_ much of a lie...

"Um...okay..."

"Look at her, Reverend. She's exhausted." And _that_ was no lie at all.

"Oh. Maybe you should turn in early. It's okay, you don't have to play Twister."

"Twister?" Her head poked up. "I own!" And she raced off.

"Ehh..." Norrington gave the other man a strained look. "Some niece, isn't she?" And he followed.

Once downstairs, the game had already begun. Several were waiting in line for the next game, and the others were playing some board games and card games. The former-Commodore sat in a couch, immediately sinking another five inches into the butt-trap, and watched contentedly as the kids all twisted and stretched, straining to keep their balance and still touch the correctly-colored circles. Amy, with years of experience in the saddle, a balancing act in itself, naturally won.

The next group of people (for indeed only six could play at a time) were getting ready to begin the next round, and they pulled James up from his seat, asking him to join them. He had managed to befriend some of the boys, and a reader may imagine they have become fond of him. The girls were there, too, and one of the female chaperones was going to participate. But he only smiled and agreed to play. He was tired of being suspicious, he decided. He had absolutely nothing to distrust here. Amy read him like a book, and grinned proudly to herself. She elected to be the spinner. _Now it's time for some fun_, she thought wickedly. _Let's see what you can do, Ellie-boy._ And she spun. "Right foot, red," she called out. There, the first move had been spun. She spun again. "Right hand green." ((A/N The color order is RYBG. It's probably not right, but I was too lazy to go and check)) That was the dot farthest away. Good. She wanted to make this a challenge for the physically fit Commodore. _I wonder..._ She spun again, this time half-willing it to stop on left-hand-red. It did not. "Left foot yellow." _I guess I need practice. Is it even really possible for this to happen?_ She tried again, this time giving a good effort in will and focus for it. "Left hand, red." _Sweet!_

With three limbs on one side and a hand on the complete opposite, the position was difficult. On the next spin, both the girls had fallen and were out. Spin...concentrate... "Left foot blue." It took some adjusting of position, but the man managed to stay in the game. Ames paused, seeing how long they could hold the position. One of the boys' socked feet slipped out from under him, nearly knocking the female chaperone over as he went down.

Spin...concentrate... "Right foot green." The lady slipped. It was down to James and one of the boys. "Left foot, red." The two had to maneuver around each other, given their positions. It went on until, twisting into a truly uncomfortable position, James won. The man was flexible. There was a small applause, and he bowed comically and sat back down. However, as he approached a couch, Amy noticed his limp had grown more noticeable. Handing off the spinner to some other willing soul, she sank...and sank into the couch beside him.

He gave her a look. "That was your doing, wasn't it?"

_Was it?_ she thought uncertainly. She tried to look innocent. "I was just experimenting, that's all."

"Then that's...good for you," he growled through gritted teeth, pain becoming audible in his voice.

"I'm so sorry, James, I completely forgot you were hurt."

"No."

"Huh?"

"No more being sorry. We've -ah- had enough of that for today, all right?"

"Fine. Are you going to be okay?"

"It'll pass. So it was -ah- working, then, hmm?"

"Yeah, most of the time," _unless it was all coincidence_, she silently added doubtfully. "The thing is, I still don't know what it is I was doing to make stuff happen."

"We'll figure it out. It just takes some time."

"We? So then you're not going back to your wo—_home_?" she caught herself, recalling they were still in a crowded lounge.

"I'm not going anywhere—you need my help," he replied sincerely, pain having passed.

"Aww. You're as sweet as pie."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Not cookies?"

"Sure, cookies too."

"Glad to know I'm such a treat to you," he grinned.

Her face set into comically pissed-off. "No cookies for you!" she snapped good-naturedly.

He pretended to pout. They both chuckled. "We'll see what we can do tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Hmm?"

"We're all going home tomorrow."

"Oh...do you...do you think your family will allow me to stay?" James didn't particularly like the idea of actually being homeless.

"Well, let's see...you and Jack were the ones who brought me back to them, and they must be eternally grateful, so I don't think they'll mind too much, save for the no heads up." By now, he understood what such expressions meant. "And my loud-mouth sister came home for the weekend, but she'll be on the train back to college by the time we get home." He didn't bother asking what a train was. "So we should be good."

"Then after we get there, we can get to work."

"Right," she grinned. But her smile quickly began to fade. "Er...just in case, let's try some stuff tonight, too."

"All right. Meet me down here at midnight. I believe I have something important to show you."

"What? Really?"

"Yes."

"All righty then!" Ace Ventura. "So hey James..."

"Yes, Todd?"

"Were you feeling at all carsick in the vans this weekend?"

"Surprisingly not."

"Surprisingly?"

"Yes. You see, when I was first introduced to nautical life, I had terrible motion sickness..." And they spent the rest of the evening immersed in stories of James' first adventures aboard the _HMS Falcon_.

* * *

Okay, so a little bit of changing it up. Instead of stuff conveniently happening like she wanted, we can understand _how_ she made them happen. Well, sorta. I think my main beef with this whole story was that I tried to make my character too much like me, and well... I'm not cut out for those kinds of scenarios. I feel at home by forests and streams, not the ocean (although it is pretty and smells good and has great scope for imagination), and I'm not a big fan of wind (on which these ships rely). Maybe for once, I will be able to craft a character that has her own, well, character. We'll see.

Reviews and feedback?


	8. Doubt

Ah, Sunday again! Getting my wisdom teeth out Tuesday, that should be fun. I get Vicodin! Somebody get me a cane so I can impersonate House! Hahaha. Actually, I'm scared out of my mine. I've never been put under before as far as anesthetics go, and I'm a little afraid of what I might say to people while I'm still...woozy. As far as I know, my personal censor will be taking an untimely vacation.

Anyway, for those of you who are interested, a new chapter of Fears is in the works! (Finally!) I know that's been a long time in coming, and none of my calendars tell me when the full moons are anymore, but this will most likely be finished within the next week, provided I'm competent enough after the surgery.

As always, enjoy.

**Chapter Eight: Midnight and Homecoming**

Midnight came and went, and shortly thenafter, she was able to sneak from the room without a worry that anyone would still be awake. While everyone had been up late the previous night, tonight exhaustion had set in and they were all out with the lights. She crept silently down the steps to the lounge. It was pitch dark, but the girl had been smart enough to grab a flashlight. She clicked it on, and it seemed to know already to train on the invisible figure of James standing in the middle of the room.

"You're late." Illuminated in the ghostly light, he turned to face her.

"I had trouble waking up. We're all tired after today."

"Mm," he said amphotericly.

"Sooo...you said you had something to show me?" He held up a book to the light.

"Yes. Now would you mind shining that somewhere other than my eyes?"

"Sorry." She shone the light elsewhere and approached him. "What have we got here?" He pressed the book into her hands and stood behind her with the foreign object that was the flashlight, shining it over her shoulder so she could read. "...This is one of Hannah's journals."

"Yes. Some of her memories were not her own, as you may recall, and I suspect they came from those that she was created from."

They read.

"...She remembers stuff like what's been happening."

"Yes," James breathed in her ear. "And I thought it might be of help."

"The only thing that will help me—the only advice that's here is: 'Learn from the Sea Witch.' What Sea Witch do we know?"

"What of that witch Sparrow knows?"

"Tia Dalma? Naw, she's more a mystic than a witch, isn't she?"

"Then that means she will be more knowledgeable and thus be of more help to you; mystic or not, she's all we've got."

"Is it really so important that I have to learn all of this? I mean, yeah it might be of some convenience, but I'm liking my life the way it is, you know?"

James reached over her shoulder to turn the page. The next sheet was blank, however, but for a single statement. "'Prepare; a great storm is fast approaching,'" he read.

"Oh."

"Apparently it is."

"Er..."

"It sounds like a war more than anything," he commented somberly.

"Then...?"

"Then we must go and see this Tia Dalma as soon as possible."

She held up a finger, looking like she would agree. "Yeeeehh—no. See, if I disappear again, my parents are gonna kill me. I propose: we go home to my place, work on this a little on our own, give me some time to give Jack a call, and if we have to go, give me some time to think up a good excuse to give my parents, and take a trip to your place, kay?"

"Good idea," he nodded. They both felt better with a plan.

"Cookies for me!"

"Not now. Now, we must work on your concentration, Miss Short-Attention-Span." Geeze, even modern sarcasm was rubbing off on him.

"I can focus when I'm motivated."

"You're hyper."

"I'm tired. I get hyper when I'm tired."

His eyebrows rose. "You really are a strange one."

"I was. Now I'm even stranger."

"Perhaps." They were silence for a few moments. "It is time we experimented."

"Hai."

"We're going to have to be creative tonight, just for an idea of what to do."

"Okay."

He thought for a few moments. Had to think of something where any malfunction would not be life threatening. "That pillow," he pointed. "Let us see what you can make it do."

"Do?"

"You were able to make that swirler ("Spinner," Amy corrected him.) do as you willed. Try to do something along the same lines with that pillow."

"Er...okay..." She stared intensely at said small cushion.

"Focus," he encouraged her.

After several minutes, the pillow had not moved. Nothing had.

"How was that focus?"

"I was focusing, I'll tell ya."

"Hmm. Then I wonder what the problem is."

"Doubt."

"Humm?"

"Doubt," the teenager repeated. "I just can't believe I can do any of this. I mean, I never _really_ believed in magic, you know. The power of imagination, sure, but for real? Naw, man."

James bit back the urge to snort. How ironic was it that the sane one believed in the impossible, and the odd one didn't? "Ah. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my assumptions."

"Maybe."

"All right," he sighed. "We're done for tonight. You go and get some sleep."

"Oh, okay." She hugged him. "G'night," she bid sleepily, taking back the flashlight and heading up to bed.

"Good night..."

————

The next morning found Amy up earlier than the rest, getting out the breakfast foods, and surprisingly awake. "Good morning, James," she greeted him before she saw him.

"Morning, pet."

"Sleep well?"

"Aye, and you?"

"Yup." she continued setting up the breakfast items. "I talked to Jack last night."

"You both are still connected?"

"Evidently."

"And...?"

"He's in the middle of something, but he says he'll be more than happy to pay a visit to _her_ when he's finished."

"All right. Did he mention how long his plundering would take?"

"Plundering? Who said anything about plundering?" James' eyebrows rose. "He's leading a liberation movement on the island of Lusee."

"Sparrow? Of all people..."

"See? Even Jack has his good. It's just hard to see sometimes. ...Maybe it's in his toe."

James chuckled. "So that's why he can't walk straight half the time," he played along. "It's because his toe is disagreeing with the rest of him."

She laughed. "Look look! James made a funny!" James rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm weird. Get over it, love. Now eat some breakfast and get to returning everything you borrowed, okay?"

"Ah, that's right," he looked down at his apparel. He had felt nothing but guilt at having to borrow clothing. But it had warmed him—both literally and metaphorically—that another man had been willing to lend them to him. However, foreign as they were to him, he would be glad to get back into his own clothes.

It was hard to believe it had only been a weekend—with everything that had happened, it felt more like it had been a week. However, the adventure was not over. After breakfast, the group went on one last ride through Center City, the clean, downtown neighborhood of the city. It was to be a nice walk around the area to see a bunch of the sculptures that were built outside. James was intrigued by many of them—such as the thirty-foot clothespin—seeing as the abstract art was not a style he was accustomed to.

Finally, it was back to the base to pack and clean up. Up in the girls' room, Amy was busy cramming everything into her small suitcase. However, as usual, she had over-packed and could not fit everything in. _Hmm... If I could make it smaller, it would be a lot easier. Oh well_, thought she with confidence, _I can make it fit. I always do._ And she spent her efforts and focus on making it all fit. (Naturally the idea of folding all the clothing did not occur to her.) Somehow, she ended up with room to spare and could close the zipper easily.

A couple of hours later, everyone piled into the vans and left. James was now in another van, since he had been sitting on the floor, and said other van had an open seat. It was the boys' van, but also driven by Scott. Amy's prayers went with him.

————

Traffic was slow, as always, getting out of the city. Thus, James was taken by surprise once they hit the Turnpike and started on sixty miles an hour. It made him nervous to be moving so quickly, and he unconsciously began to fidget with his hat. "So, uh, dude," one of the boys began, "like, what's up with the costume?"

"Oh this? I'm a part of an anachronism group." The word was foreign to them. "Reenactment."

"Oh," they chorused. "That's cool. What kind of stuff do you reenact?"

His eyes gleamed. "Ship battles."

"Cool." "Sweet." "Dude, that rocks!" "Awesome!"

So, he passed the time by telling them stories about some of his favorite victories.

Simultaneously, Amy was staring blankly out a window, lost in daydreams.

Before one knew it, the two hour ride was coming to an end. The vans pulled into the parking lot at their church, thus finally ending the trip, and everyone unloaded. "All right," Todd turned to Ellie upon grabbing her bag. "Let's go." She led him the mile or so to her house. Picking up a small decorative turtle at the back door, she opened a secret compartment on its underside and removed a key, unlocked the door, and replaced said key and turtle. She opened the door and led the way inside. "Stay here. I'm gonna go find my parents and tell them what's up."

"Okay."

"Okay," she nodded, setting down her things, and set off. "Mom? Dad? I'm home!" She found them in the dining room at the front of the house. "Hey, guys!" They all hugged.

"So? How was it?" her mother asked.

"It was really interesting. I'll tell you more later, er... I need to tell you something important, first."

"Oh. Okay."

"See...you remember how Jack Sparrow and James Norrington brought me back after I went missing?"

Silence.

"Commodore Norrington showed up and you brought him home, didn't he?"

"Oh, you're good, Mom."

"Nah, Scott called Friday night and told us."

_Traitor_, she thought insincerely. "Oh. Well then, that's one less apology for me."

"We're gonna set up the fold out bed from the couch."

"Just the couch would be fine, Madam," came a voice. James had heard them talking (it isn't such a large house, after all) and assumed it was all right to come in. "I do hope my stay here will not be a burden."

"It's all right. The house seems empty with only three people."

"Only? Was there a fourth?"

"My sister. She's away at college." She mentally winced at the thought of her older sibling.

"Well, you had better go and unpack," her father told her. "And while you're at it, work on your room."

The girl really _hadn't_ changed. "Commodore—."

"Please. Just call me James."

"Well, James, how are you at cooking?"

"In my time, I might have considered myself an adequate chef."

"Well, I'm going to need some help with dinner tonight."

"I'd be happy to lend a hand," he smiled.

So, while he did that, Amy trudged up to her room with her bag. She removed anything that wasn't clothing and dumped the rest directly into the washer, and started the machine. What else? _'Work on your room.'_ Looking around at the clutter, she sighed before perking up as an idea came to her. For about ten minutes, she picked up the books that had fallen from her overstuffed bookshelf, then called it quits. _Yay loopholes_, she thought to herself, for in fact her father had only told her to work on it, not actually clean it like she knew he meant. She left just in time to be called down to set the table and unload the dishwasher...not necessarily in that order.

Half an hour later, dinner was set out on the relatively small eating-room table (the dining room was only used for special occasions, such as Thanksgiving).

————

"Have you given any thought to the possibility of your ability?" James asked as they sat in the den later that evening, in front of the fireplace.

Amy shrugged. "I dunno. It makes a lot of sense...Yet at the same time, it's 'Greek to me.'" She shook her head. "I don't know _what_ to think."

"I am only here so long as you need my help."

"'A great war is coming,' don't you remember that? I'm going to have to believe all this stuff in order to be ready for that. I'll be made to believe somehow or other... So I'm definitely gonna need you." There was a long silence, broken only by crackle of flames. "James...I don't want to be in a war...I really don't...," she confessed softly.

James breathed deeply and turned away, absorbing himself in the fire burning on the hearth. _It is hard to make an unwilling soldier fight._ The flames danced before his eyes, as though to mock him somehow. _And truth be told, I don't want her to go to war. But something doesn't feel right about just ignoring this. Perhaps this will teach her defense instead of how to fight. There has got to be a way._

_...There just has to._

_

* * *

_Woo shiny!

Ehem. ...Anyway...

Feedback? Reviews? Cookies?


	9. The Call

Ahh, mashed potatoes have gotten boring. And I'm pissed that I can't have any of the flank steak tomorrow for our Memorial Day cookout. But I got to have meatballs last, night, that's a definite plus!

Been having some really weird and intricate dream lately. They all had complex plots and subplots, and little insignificant details that ended up being important later on. And I always wake up _right_ before the conclusions. Sooo frustrating!

As always, enjoy the stuff that I made, but don't own.

**Chapter Nine:** **Family Life and Summons**

Monday, Amy's mother burst into her room. "Why aren't you up yet? You're late for school!"

Amy propped herself up on an elbow, watching amusedly. "What, Mom, did you sleep through the phone call at six this morning? It's a snow day."

Her mother - her wonderful, flustered, just-woken-up mother - stood there for about a minute before closing her mouth with an "Oh." Amy laughed. "Well, sorry for waking you up."

"It's all right. I was about to get up anyway." Her mother left to go back to sleep—an anti-morning person—and the lass kicked away her blanket and rose. She navigated skillfully, effortlessly, through the disaster that was her bedroom, her twelve-by-twelve box, and floated down the carpeted steps to the den. James was sitting by, idly reading one of the various books from her bookcase which he had swiped the previous night. It was one of the pirate books—they were the only ones that weren't filled with things he did not understand. "'Good morning to you! Good morning to you! With bright yellow cobras...'" she sang in greeting.

He winced, looking up at her. "Cobras? Where did that come from, dare I ask?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. It's Jeff Corwin."

"Who?"

"I'll show you later. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"I've had some of that cereal. Is that all right?"

"It's fine. That being said, it's time you saw the reason for which I know all about you." And with the ease of experience, she turned on the flat screen television and popped a certain disc into the DVD player. "Like all the fanfictions dictate," she added in an undertone.

"What was that, Amy?

"We're watching a play, mate." She hit Play. "Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show." She closed the blinds most of the way for a dimming effect.

The movie began to play, and for the next two and a half hours, both were nearly silent. And Ames used all her willpower not to say the lines with the movie, nor even mouth the words. James, on the other hand, said some of his own lines as he watched himself say them, remembered himself saying those exact words exactly as they were being said.

The credits rolled. "This...Jack Davenport. He's not bad."

"No, he's not," she agreed.

"So, then...this has been shown around the world?"

"Yes."

"Then that means I am famous?" he sounded worried.

"Infamous, actually. See, everyone (or nearly everyone) who is a fan of the movie sees either Jack or Will as their favorite or as the hero. They are the main characters, after all. You, being a secondary character in this view of the tale, are not as easily recognized nor remembered. _And,_ since you were the one who was after 'mister-hero-Jack and/or Will', people see you as ...well... more of a villain, right along with Barbossa."

A worried look now became troubled. "...Oh..."

"But," she continued cheerfully, rising, "I think everyone shall change their opinions about you, given that these rumors I've heard about the sequel are true."

"Oh yes, you did mention there was a sequel..."

"Will be," she corrected him. "It hasn't come out yet."

"Ah."

"So, half of our morning being gone, what do you want to do?"

"I had hoped at giving the whole Sorcery concept one more try."

"But how can I do something if I don't believe I can?"

"Let's see...you made music become real, made a little white box appear" ("iPod," Amy interjected.) "and even with all your doubt contrived to stop the spinner where you willed. It's a wonder that you don't believe in this yet. You have even got Hannah's diary to back up the evidence. One more try, pet? For me?"

Hearing someone else say it sparked an excited and determined flame inside of her. "You're right. I can _so_ do this."

"Keep the efforts to a pillow for now, pet."

"Okay!" While she was still in that supercharged state of mind and being, she directed her attention to one of the pillows on the couch. She didn't exactly know how magic was supposed to work. Was it something that just happened if you thought about it long enough? Or did you have to put your energy into something else to make it move? She imagined it was the latter, and reached out with her mind, attempting to direct her energy into the pillow. After a few tense moments, it quivered and...flopped over onto the floor. Then it stood on one end and hopped around in a lazy circle like some rodent on drugs before lying flat and moving no more. "Er..."

"That..." James stared, as though he himself could barely believe it, "That was brilliant," he exclaimed softly, since her father was still within hearing distance (which was pretty much anywhere in the house, actually). "And hopefully a boost to your confidence?"

"Well...it proves I can do something, and I guess a certain state of mind can be attained to smother the doubt that still remains." His eyebrow quirked subtly. "You understand; that doubt where you can hardly believe something, even when it's happening. Right?"

"You mean like undead pirates taking out your crew and you never being the wiser until it is nearly too late?" he shot back, although in good humour. They continued their efforts.

(The author shall now take time to describe Amy's family. Her father, Gordon, was sixty, elderly to some but a child at heart. He had worked as a chemical engineer for a big company for thirty-six years before his job was removed with budget cuts, forcing him into an early retirement. Now, though, he works at home as a consultant for other engineers.

Her mother, Louise, works as a church organist, choir director, and director of music ministries at her Lutheran church. She also attended the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Philadelphia.

Her sister, Diane, twenty-three, was currently going to college. Her third college, at that, but do not make the mistake of assuming that is it because she excelled. But we shall not go into problems Amy has picked out about her sister. Instead of using the completely unnecessary and long explanation the authoress had previously written with a passion, a reader may assume that she is simply not fond of her elder sibling.

Back to the subject, let us turn to her relationship with her parents. Most teenagers her age would think (or already do) that she is crazy to want to be able to spend time with them. She and her mother are especially close and think very similarly. They share thoughts and observations, and notice some things at the same time. They even finish one another's sentences every once in a while, and commonly take the words right out of each other's mouth. Amy and her father share intelligence and activity, often doing some project together, or going out to do something active, such as tennis or bowling or even just hopping from rock to rock down the stream in the park. It may be said that Amy tries to be a son of sorts to her father, in the hopes of making him feel more fulfilled as such.

There is also a cat. There was once also a guinea pig and the two had been friends before said rodent died in her sleep one night the previous spring. Now, Zoë, a tortoiseshell shorthair mix adopted several years ago at the local SPCA, was the only pet, and Amy's closest non-human friend, provided that Jack counts as being 'human.'

This is Amy's family.)

The day wore on, and more snow came, ensuring a second snow day, and another morning to sleep in, as much of a morning person the girl claimed to be. However, even four in the morning was pushing it. _"Amy..."_ called a voice as she slept. She creased her brow and groaned. _"__**Amy**__..."_ She grumbled to herself. Her parents usually used that as confirmation for whatever they were saying, anyway. _"Amy!"_

"What, whaddoyouwant?" she mumbled into her pillow.

"_It's Jack, love, say something."_

Her eyes snapped open with an "Oh." _"Sorry, Jack, I was only sleeping."_

"_Sorry about that, love. It _is_ late."_

"_Can I help you with something?"_ She sensed his fading excitement. _"How goes the liberation of Lusee?"_

"_It went flawlessly. That tyrant governor shall govern no more!"_ He eagerly opened his memory for her to see his little adventure.

The images and emotions flashed in her mind. "_Good for you,"_ she yawned, interrupting the siege of the governor's house and the freeing of the prisoners.

"_Sorry, luv, am I boring you?"_

"_No, no, I'm just sleep deprived is all. Anywho, I assume you did not disturb my slumber merely to inform me of your victory, did you?"_

"_Actually, I did. Because in doing so, that means that I am finished there and on my way to visit Tia Dalma for you. I should be there by week's end."_

"_Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know. 'Night."_

"_Sweet dreams, darling,"_ he bid her, sounding a bit tired himself, as he pulled out of her mind.

_That's good news,_ she thought to herself sleepily, before deciding to get up. It was five by now, Jack's recounting of his adventure having taken nearly an hour. So it was too late to go back to sleep, according to her internal clock. She was fully awake now, anyway. She dressed warmly and bundled up, slinking down the stairs. The den was dark, James having discovered the joys of sleeping in. Picking up a house key, she hit the button on the remote for the automatic garage door, flipped on the outdoor lights, and went out to shovel the driveway. After a good while, James appeared beside her with the other shovel, helping her. Neither spoke. They just shoveled in silence, frantically working to keep warm. The lass was actually beginning to sweat in her horse farm winter coat and long undergarments. However, she was beginning to worry about James, clad only in his Caribbean-weathered Navy uniform. When she saw him trying in vain to shake the numbness out of his fingers, she deemed it time to take a break. The drive was mostly done, anyway (six inches was a lot of snow to shovel!) and the walk wouldn't take very long.

She led him inside, and both sighed at the warmth. "It'll be a shock," she said, shedding her coat and pushing up her sleeves, "but if you wanna get the feeling back in your hands any faster, put them under your shirt on your stomach." She left to go make some hot chocolate—yet another delicacy she had to introduce to him—but she managed to still hear him trying not to gasp as cold skin touched warm. She returned with the warm mugs, and he received his gratefully. She took a sip of the beverage and sputtered. Too hot; she'd scalded her tongue. "Every time!" she grumbled, wiping up with a napkin.

"So why were you up so early this morning?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Jack called me really early this morning—well, early for me," she reasoned as James' eyebrows rose. "Anywho, he's on his way to Tia Dalma's. He says he should be there by the end of the week. He also says to tell you 'hi.'"

"Ah." James smiled for an instant. "And how did his 'revolution' turn out?"

"Oy, he spent like almost an hour describing it to me. They won. The 'tyrant governor' has been removed from the picture. Lusee is a republic now."

"I suppose that must be good news, then."

"Yerp."

The week went on. When it came time for Amy to go to school, James kept busy studying his mother's diaries—yes, the plural, for he kept several with him—as well as helping out around the house, doing random chores all over. He washed and dried dishes (lacking the knowledge concerning a dishwasher), swept up, even learned the ways of the phone and started taking phone calls. He became a convenience to Amy's father—who was both the 'family taxi service' for his daughters and his aging parents, and also had to keep his job as consultant. He also did a lot of volunteer work with the church and other such odd jobs, and his youngest daughter often wondered where he found the time to get everything done. The man was a saint, to put things lightly. Thus, Norrington must be a great help. That aside, one gets very bored when cooped up and doing only one thing all the time. The only thing he did not touch was the lass's room. For some reason, it angered her whenever someone other than herself cleaned it up, or so she had warned him.

Now it was Friday evening. Ames, James, and Mrs. Kensings were at a horse farm for the teenager's weekly lesson. She brought out a black and white appaloosa (in color, not in breed) gelding. His name, predictably, was Pongo. She had been riding him for quite some time, and she knew all his little quirks. The two were close. The lesson went, James observing in almost wonder at how similar it was to move with a horse as it was to move with a ship. She barely bounced in the saddle through Pongo's smooth, ground eating canter. The ring was indoors, sheltered from the wind, but often in the winter it felt colder inside than out. James strangely wasn't cold, however. It was a group lesson, and everyone was under the age of thirteen save for Amy. But she was one of the most advanced in the class (the group was composed of riders of all different levels) and she would have leased and gotten private lessons if she had the time, or the mind to make a future for herself in equitation.

Now, she was waiting for her turn to jump individually. She and Pongo watched the less-experienced riders trot messily over the low jumps. And then..._ "Well, luv, I'm here."_ Jack had made it.

Amy reacted, and the gelding's ears flicked back at her apprehensively as he sensed something was amiss. _"Ican'ttalkrightnowJackI'monahorse,"_ she thought back to him as quickly as possible, giving the horse a reassuring pat on the neck. Either in understanding or bewilderment, the pirate pulled out of her mind. After the lesson, though, on the long car ride home, she re-opened their connection. _"So, you made it to Tia Dalma's, eh?"_

"_Yes,"_ Jack sounded somewhat startled. She caught a few passing thoughts of a conversation with said mystic.

"_Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?"_

"_Oh, no, nothing important,"_ he thought back, and she got a sudden picture of Tia glaring at him. _"So—what did you need me to talk to her about?"_

And so she relayed the information and such to him to be relayed in turn to a waiting Tia Dalma. When she sensed an answer had been given, she ventured to ask: _"So what did she say?"_

"_She asks that you come as soon as you are able. Can't keep away, can you? No one can."_

* * *

There you have it. Also, be on the lookout for an update of Fears Unknown. I only have a short bit left to write, and then it'll be up! Today or tomorrow, hopefully.

As always: Response, Reviews, and Feedback are greatly appreciated and make very good medication for a now less-wise patient.


	10. Trouble

I had something mildly amusing to write about here, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. -shrug- Oh well. Enjoy the chapter.

**Disclaimer****:** Disney: You're mad

Me: If I wasn't, this plot'd prob'ly never work.

**Chapter 10: Finding Pirate-Land**

"She wants me to get there as soon as possible."

"Really?"

"Yeh."

"Then you should go. Are you not free on the weekend?"

"Three problems. Firstly, I've got some stuff to do. Secondly, I need time to properly think up an excuse for my parents. And thirdly, I'm not sure I can get back. I mean, it had to be 'truest desire' and all that. I don't exactly 'truly desire' to go back, as it were."

"She said as soon as you can. So, once you can; get going."

"It may be another week yet."

"Then perhaps you should call on Jack again and alert him to the situation."

"Sure." Amy opened up her mind again, and could've sworn she heard James wondering what it was like to communicate the way she and the pirate could. _"It's fun in a super weird invasion of privacy kind of way,"_ she thought to him halfheartedly. Even then, he looked surprised at her, but she wasn't paying attention. She was sitting in a tavern conversing over a pint. _"Er...Jack?"_ Jack blinked, as did her sight. She was looking through his eyes. It had happened occasionally other times when either of them opened up their connection a little too far.

Jack was—or rather had been—trying to explain to Gibbs why they had come to this island, when a serving wench walked by. He rose and followed her, beginning to flirt. _"Eyes up, Jack,"_ Amy snapped in his mind when she caught him looking where he shouldn't.

"Er...could you excuse me a moment?" he smiled charmingly, backing away and hastening smoothly to a table in the dark, empty corner where he sat by himself. _"As always, your timing is impeccable, luv."_

"_Well excuse me—."_

"_I'm serious." ("You?"_ Amy intervened.) _"If you had come maybe another five minutes later, _you would have been scarred for life_."_

"_Er..."_ she laughed nervously in his mind. _"That was lucky..."_

"_Is there something you need?"_ he asked irritably, annoyed at having been disturbed from his prior motives.

"_You can get back to your wench later,"_ she growled with disdain. _"Anywho, I need you to tell Lady Dalma that I may not be able to come for another week or so. There is some stuff I need to do and/or take care of, you know? So if you could get that to her a.s.a.p., I would be much where the heck are you?"_ she changed the thought mid-sentence.

"_On the next island over, a few hours' travel from Tia's shack. The men were against the idea of staying with her, so we came here."_

"_Oh. Well, anywho, could you tell her for me?"_

"_Sure thing, darling."_

"_Okay, thanks. Oh, and Jack?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Watch out for yourself. I have a bad feeling about this table you're sitting at."_

"_Er..."_

"_See you sometime soon, Jack."_ And she pulled out of his mind as quickly as she could. Moments later, there was a loud crash in the tavern, and all eyes turned toward an empty table in the corner, its chairs knocked aside and shards of glass on its surface. Even absent from the event, a cold shivering of foreboding traveled up Amy's spine.

"So were you able to talk your way out of a meeting for this weekend?"

"I don't know. I..." she hugged herself, "...I think something bad happened to Jack."

James didn't bother to ask questions just yet. Instead, he merely gathered her into his arms and held her. When he felt she had calmed, he ventured to ask; "Was that _your _voice I heard in my mind?"

"Er...yeah. Sorry about that. I opened up the connection a little too far."

"Really?"

"I guess. I mean, I've never been able to think to anyone but Jack, so I don't know why you could hear me. I don't really know how to put it to words, you know?"

"No." He thought a moment as they released one another. "Do you suppose...that perhaps you can speak with Tia Dalma in the same way that you did with me?"

She froze. "Say that again."

"That again," he grinned.

"'No, the other thing,'" she played along.

"'No the other thing.'"

"'No! What you said before when you—.'"

"'No! What you said before when you...'"

"'NEV-er mind, I have an idea!'"

"'NEV-er mind, I have an idea!'"

They both laughed. "All right, no more Spongebob. It's metaphorically rotting your brain."

"Fine," he shrugged indifferently, "I can't stand it anyway."

"Anyway, could you repeat what you originally said, please? I don't think I heard you correctly." He did. "Ah...that's what I thought you said. I, uh...hadn't really given much thought to the concept."

"You did it to me without 'much thought'. All right, before we jump to conclusions, then, how about you try to talk to Jack again and find out from him what _really_ happened?"

"Right, right, good idea." She took a deep breath to calm herself and reached out with her mind. The pathway now open, she called to him. But she found herself in darkness. _"Jack?"_ She sensed a flash of alarm, but no sense of consciousness to accompany it. Humming his theme in the hopes of comfort, she explored his unconscious mind. What she found was his memory. Opening it like a mental book, she saw what he had seen. In his last memory, he had seen several shadows on the table before him, cast from behind, and turned to meet the crash of something hard breaking against his head and a blinding pain, followed by the sensation of floating, and then nothing. She tried to look back and see who had done it, but the memory was already beginning to fade. Jack had lost his memory with the blow. "Oh no..."

"Amy?"

"It's Jack. Someone attacked him and he's lost his memory."

"Wot!"

"I'm going to try talking to Tia Dalma."

"Keep calm and you should be fine."

"I'll try my best." She hiccupped.

He shook his head at this. "Try yout best later, after you've calmed down."

—Later—

She let out a breath with a _whoosh_, hiccups finally gone. "Okay..." She and James sat now on the couch, veiled in darkness. She lit the remote fireplace and wrapped the both of them in a maroon fleece blanket.

"Are you ready?" James asked.

She slid her hand into his and he gave it a comforting squeeze. Leaning her head on his shoulder, his other arm wrapping protectively around her, she nodded. "Yeah." She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mind farther than she ever had before. Suddenly, she sensed the world. In fact, she sensed multiple ones. There were so many presences...and most minds were closed to her intrusion. She searched for any mind that was open, and eventually a connection was made. _"Hello,"_ she began. _"Are you Tia Dalma?"_

"_No,"_ a thought replied. _"Are you one of those voices my doctor keeps talking about?"_

"_If I am, should you really be listening to me?" _Well that was just great. She hastily moved on. One mental patient down, trillions of others to go. Perhaps someone with wisdom... She reached out for the wisdom she envisioned Tia Dalma possessing. A great force emanating of erudition touched her mind. _"Excuse me, are you Tia Dalma?"_

She sensed a twinkle of knowing periwinkle eyes. _"No, my dear, I am Albus Dumbledore."_

"_Then I am in the wrong fandom. Thanks for the help."_ And so it continued... She tried again...

"_Sorry, this is Gandalf the White."_

...And again...

"_No, little one, I am Grandmother Willow."_

...And again...

"_I prefer to be called Iroh. I do not know this Tia Dalma. Is she nice?"_

...And again-again.

"_I am afraid, child, that you are in the wrong universe."_

"_Master Yen Sid, is it?"_

"_Yes."_

She connected the dots quickly. _"Is there not a world called Port Royal?"_ For once her obsession with the Kingdom Hearts sequel came in handy.

"_Indeed, you may find her in this universe after all. But the Port Royal in this universe may be very different from the one that you seek."_

He was right. _"Thank you so much."_ All right, so wisdom hadn't worked. She 'changed her frequency' to search for someone with a 'touch of destiny'. She was soon overcome by the sensation of falling. _"Who's there?"_

"_Namin__é__?"_ a voice asked.

"_Holy s-beep-, it's Roxas! Sorrygottagobye!"_

And she kept on trying...

"_Max Bialystock at your service. What am I doing, thinking up a new character?"_

"_Er...something like that...__,"_ she didn't know how to convince anyone that she was any more than their own thoughts. _"Whatever you do, __**don't**__ let Roger DeBris play Hitler,"_ she warned him quickly as she moved on.

"_Ooo, a voice in my head."_

"_Yeah...sorry about that. Who are you, anyway?"_

"_Gordy."_

"_Gordy...the Janitor?"_ She sensed his conformation and mentally blinked. _"Gordy the Janitor, touched with destiny."_ There was a flash of excitement, then surprise and a weasel as she was pulled into another connection. Oddly, though, the mind was closed. She broadened the link as far as she thought it could go, and found herself once again looking through the eyes of another. The 'host' stiffened apprehensively, sensing that something was not as it should be. This was not Tia Dalma, she knew. But through the eyes, she was looking around at an all-too-familiar blacksmith forge. _"Hello?"_ The poor soul startled.

"Who's there?" She heard in the voice that this was a man. And just the man she was hoping for, too.

"_Hi, Will, remember me?"_

He looked around. "I might if I see you."

"_Please. Don't speak out loud; they'll think you're crazy."_ She giggled innocently in his mind. _"Didn't you meet a crazy girl not long ago?"_

"_Well yes, but..."_

"_Will. It's me. I'm in your head momentarily. Please, don't ask me how, I don't have the time nor energy to explain. Listen: Jack's been kidnaped. I need you to go to Tia Dalma and tell her exactly what I'm about to say—er, think, rather—okay? How long do you think it will take you to get there?"_

"_With a good wind, four or five days."_

"_Oh, okay. Tell her this, then-."_

"_You do realize I don't have a ship, don't you?"_

"_Oh..."_

"_But I can always try and find a way to barter passage."_

"_No, no. I'll just have to try for... Tia... (yawn)."_

"_You sound exhausted."_

"_I've been at this for ages. Mental communication drains one's energy."_

"_All right. Then take care of yourself. And good luck."_

"_Thanks,"_ she yawned again.

"_Keep me aware, if you can. Let me know if there is anything I can do."_

"_I will. Thanks." _She broke the connection, hopes rising now that she was in the right universe, but after that it was like searching through static. She was soo tired...but Jack was in danger, and she had to help in any way possible. Just as the static was becoming an unconsciousness, exhaustion setting in, her mind connected with another, and suddenly everything was clear. _"I'm...sorry to bother you,"_ she started tiredly, _"but are you Tia Dalma?"_

"_Yes...Amy Kensings." _Without another thought, the lass passed forward all the important thoughts that needed saying in one jumble of consciousness. _"I know, child. And it is a grave t'ing that has happened to our witty Jack. I shall not bother to explain at the moment—you have exhausted your energy wit' your efforts—but I shall tell you what has become of him."_ Even as her consciousness was fading, she still managed to hear words that would chill her soul for days and weeks. _"Jack Sparrow been shattered into him most basic emotions and traits. Him been scattered 'cross worlds."

* * *

_I love Tia Dalma. Only one more chapter after this, and then we move on to the next portion of the series. ...Which I haven't rewritten yet... eheh...

Also, a new chapter of Fears went up on Tuesday, after far too long a break.

Reviews? Feedback? Fries?


	11. Swash Swash Buckle Buckle

The end! Muahahaha! This is the end of this installment, although by no means the end of the story, so sit back, relax, and enjoy this chapter!

Hope everyone is also enjoying the World Cup. I was never really into sports, but I can't stay away! Pumped! WOO!

**Disclaimer****: Disney 1:** With the wind at quarter astern, we won't catch them.  
**Disney 2:** We don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines.  
**Disney 1: **Hands, come about! Run out the guns! We are to fire on our own franchise, sir?  
**Disney2: **I would rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of an obsessive fangirl.  
**Authoress:** Muahaha...

**Chapter Eleven: Swash-Swash Buckle-Buckle**

The girl had fallen asleep in his arms. He thought he should wake her, but could tell how exhausted she was. Rest was the best thing for her right now, he knew. Still, a tremor of shock had gone through her just as she lost consciousness, and he couldn't get it out of his mind that something was seriously wrong. She would tell him in the morning, he knew, but he doubted if he could wait as long to hear.

The next morning found them asleep in one another's arms on the couch. Amy's mother chanced to be up early this day, having a morning wedding to play, and happened upon their positions. "What are you doing?"

James, being the light sleeper that he was, opened his eyes at her voice. "Good morn, Mistress Kensings," he greeted her warmly, softly, somewhat groggily.

"What the _heck _are you—?"

"If I may," he interrupted gently, politely. "Might you have a mind to keep your voice down? She is still asleep."

Louise looked no calmer, and although she did not say another word, her expression spoke volumes. She trusted her daughter's judgement, but when the age difference in friends was as great as in this case, she was suspicious.

He met her gaze, for a moment confused, before suddenly perceiving the silent accusation. He attempted to mask the arrow shot through him with a cold indifference and failed due to lack of emotional wits (he _had_ just woken up). "If you think for a _moment_ that I would do such a thing - I could never - as long as I live-." His indignation nearly drew his voice up to awakening levels.

"You're a lot older than any of her other friends. I know you've known each other very long, and that you've done some good things for her before. But when a mother walks in on a scene like _this_, she cannot keep her silence."

James met the remarks with a smouldering ice-green gaze and an unwavering Commodore-ish expression for an uncomfortable length of time. "She was a stranger when we first met," he at last broke his silence, revealing cherished memory and seeming to acknowledge the issue, and his entire demeanor changed. "She trusted me right from the start, even when she didn't know me." He attempted to shift position without moving the girl overmuch. "She's like family to me. All I have, really. The relationship we have is unique. I suppose one could say we are indeed closer than any friends might be, although the relationship you perceive cannot define it either. Perhaps it makes me think that I can get away with acting out of my own norm, and maybe those of society, because of that singularity. But with that singularity comes a fierce protectiveness that not even my profession entailed. I could never hurt her—not in any way," he declared, and his voice held the certainty of a promise. "Although I suppose even with all that said, I still owe you an explanation as to the nature of our positions. She was frightened and she came to me. It is as simple as that."

"What was she afraid of?"

"She wouldn't say."

Louise smiled wryly in spite of herself. "She's always been like that. She stays up late thinking about things and sometimes it really bothers her, but she'll never come and talk to us. If she has a nightmare in the night, we never hear about it. I guess she tries to be as independent as she can, but sometimes it's like she thinks she can't talk to us. I'm glad you can be that person for her. If she trusts you enough to come to you, even if she won't say what's on her mind, then so do I." They met each other's gazes once more, this time with a mutual respect, before Mrs. Kensings caught sight of the clock. "Oh, geez, I've gotta go. I have a wedding to play," she explained as she rushed out the door.

He could probably have carried the girl up to bed the previous night, but, not knowing how heavy or light a sleeper she was, he hadn't wanted to disturb her. However, half an hour later, when the cat crept silently into the room, she awoke. "You make a good pillow, Ellie."

"You make a decent blanket yourself."

"What time is it?"

"Ah...wee bit past zero-eight-hundred hours." Military time. Should have known.

"Getting better with digital clocks, I see."

"Not that I was ever having a problem," he reminded her. "Besides, it is just as one writes it on parchment, so you said yourself."

"True, true." She yawned, sitting up and him with her, and stretching like a cat. Said cat jumped up onto the back of the couch, then climbed down to make herself comfortable against the now-warm pillow where the Commodore's head had just been. "Well good morning, Zoë," Todd greeted the feline. "Looks like she's really warmed up to having you around."

"Is that so?" James' eyebrows rose.

"Yeah. Usually she's really shy around strangers."

"I see." He scratched the tortoiseshell behind the ears and she began to purr, eyes half-closed in contented slits. "I don't think it's her so much as it is me. I don't know. Cats have always liked me for some reason."

"Well she doesn't know any other cats, and therefore shouldn't know who other cats like, so it's all a mystery to me." She kissed her pet on the head—at which point said pet began to rub against her face—before suddenly recalling that there was something important she needed to remember. She opened her mouth excitedly to speak, and was rewarded with a mouthful of fur. "Fuff—_ptoo!_" she pulled away from Zoë, trying not to inhale or swallow a few clinging cat hairs. "Oh!" And she suddenly remembered what it was that she'd forgotten that she remembered she had to remember but had forgotten what it was she'd needed to remember. "James..."

He looked up, seeing sadly that her good mood had suddenly spoiled. "Yes?"

"About Jack..." There was a pause. "I need to speak with Tia Dalma again."

"You were able to reach her?"

"Yes."

"You worked yourself to sleep last night. Are you sure you can find her again?"

"I'm sure I can find her again." At least the doubt was gone. "Come with me," she said suddenly.

"What, how?"

"...Trust me..."

He hesitated, fearing for his recently-regained sanity, and of course held fast by that inherent fear of what he could only describe as magic. Then, with all the proof of his trust in her, "All right." She reached out for his mind, almost as if mentally reaching for his hand, and they connected. James' eyes widened, pupils dilating, as he heard her thoughts and saw her mental images and smelled the muffins that her more sensitive nose had detected where his hadn't. It was as though all his senses had been extended, and he was now two people.

"_Don't be scared, James. I know this is really weird for you, but for me it's practically normal, ever since Jack. I never thought I'd be able to talk with anyone else besides him—we were only linked because of the fruit."_ He could sense that she felt this was a confirmation of the powers he had speculated.

Now that she had finally made contact with the mystic the previous night, she searched for the exact _presence_ she had sensed, the same way she always talked to Jack, and the same way she had connected with James. A window was quickly opened. _"Good mornin', chil',"_ a now-familiar voice greeted her.

"_Ohaiou gozaimasu, Sensei,"_ Amy greeted her with a mental bow.

"_Amy..."_ Oh yeah.

"_Right. Tia Dalma, this is James Norrington. James, meet Tia Dalma."_

"_It is a pleasure to finally meet you,"_ he said politely with a sweeping bow.

"_Yes, Commodore. I been waitin' ta meet you for quite some time."_ Amy sensed his confusion.

"_Former Commodore, actually."_

"_No."_ They both mentally snapped their eyes up to meet hers._ "I foresee a pardon in you future." _ James was surprised. _"Now why didn' ya come, child?"_

"_Well I was actually asking Jack to tell you that right before..."_ Without another thought, she spilled why she couldn't be there in person.

"_It is true that truest desire is needed to move from one world to the nex'. But ya have that desire."_

Ames mentally raised her eyebrows. _"Beg pardon?"_

"_You want save Jack Sparra'?"_

"_Yes. More than anything_," she said fiercely.

"_Ta save him, you must come here."_

Something clicked. _"Kind of like Jack's compass...One can manipulate their means of finding what they want in order to find something else."_

Wise eyes gleamed in their minds. _"Clever girl. Jack Sparra' did not embellish him tales o' you. Go, child. Write ya parents a note, come see me. Here, you will learn what you will need ta save ya horse. Bring de Guardian,"_ she instructed.

"_Guardian? What do you mean?"_

"_James...Norrington,"_ her voice was beginning to fade. The connection broke, and she added in the void silence, _"...Guardian of the Realm."_

Once again in Amy's den, the two suddenly came alive, scaring the heck out of the cat, who raced away at top speed, tail fluffed to thrice its girth. Amy rushed up to her room and dug through her closet until she found her pirate gear from her last visit. She opened the hidden box in one corner and picked up her sword. It was still just as sharp as ever, and she admired it in the sunlight filtering in through the window before adding it to her belt.

The sun shone brightly outside, gleaming off the streets that had been left unplowed due to parked cars. She had an idea. "See ya, Dad, I'm going to the Caribbean," she called to her father in the next room.

"All right, make sure you're home by dinner," he replied distractedly, obviously not paying attention (and thank goodness).

She glided down the steps and found James, all of his few belongings stuffed back into his pockets, borrowed clothes folded in a neat pile under the cat. "Hey James..."

"Hmm?" he looked up from his wig, trying to decide whether to bring it or leave it.

"I think I shall be needing some practice before we go," she said, patting the hilt which rested at her hip.

He nodded his understanding and they took their things out front. "I won't be going easy on you," he said reassuringly, shedding his coat in anticipation of the heat of the battle. The wig he chucked as far as it could go (and dude, he should throw for the Eagles).

"I know. And don't expect _me_ to go easy on _you_ either. Still rooting for you, though, mate." He laughed. True, she had actually been practicing (as much as her tiny bedroom would allow), and she was just itching for a fight.

"This should be interesting," he purred, drawing his sabre and rocking into a fighting stance.

She drew her own cutlass and took up a similar pose. "Yeah." The snow was firm, holding either of them up, but not slippery. Perfect.

Seeing how she was in fact out of practice, she would have to sit back and wait for him to make the first move, or else risk fumbling. A bad start meant a bad whole thing. In the blink of an eye he lunged at her, and she parried readily before dodging out of range, forcing him to follow. She continued like this for nearly a circuit of the front yard before he piped up, "You know, on a ship you wouldn't have the room for such mobility."

"I know," she parried his next strike. "I'm just warming us up." Even with a lack of action, the clang of sword on sword was drawing a few people from the warmth of their homes. "We have an audience, it seems."

"Then we should entertain them." His eyes gleamed.

She struck, he parried, and they exchanged blows before she suddenly ducked and rolled, jumping to her feet to thwart his next strike. His next was much more forceful and she chose to dodge, but his momentum did not throw him off balance as it had with Will months ago, and she had to sweat to avoid a volley of hits. Their movement was bringing them near the magnolia tree, so she observed with a momentary sideward glance, (sometimes it pays to be so randomly observant) and an idea came to her. She jumped up, catching a branch as she parried again, and swung up out of reach. He backed away to assess the situation, but before he could get far, she sprang from the tree, coming at him from above, blade at the ready. He leaned back so as they wouldn't bump heads, bringing his sword up quick to block. She pushed off it with her own, flipping and landing in time to parry his next blow, albeit off balance—she had never tried a flip before, and her ankle would be aching the next day. Some of their small audience cheered—others gasped.

They exchanged blows, movements fluid like an intricate dance. She ducked his next blow, leaning far back. Were it a movie, she was sure time would have slowed and everything would have seemed very Matrix-like. He jumped over her next swing, meriting applause. He admitted it; she wasn't bad for a beginner. She was using her disadvantages and manipulating them in her favor, and made his own advantages less advantageous. ...She was still no match for him, though. Even so, she was being creative, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he hid himself in the fir, she backed out of reach instead of trying to pinpoint his location. Still, her judgement was somewhat off as she wasn't entirely out of his range. His blade sliced through the branches from one side, then the other, so that she never knew quite where he was. She parried his blade, and thrust her own into the branches after him. Little did she know, he had slid out the opposite side of the tree and glided around unnoticed, remarkably light of foot for a man his size, and attacking with such force that, although she was able to block it, she was shoved backward and nearly toppled over. As she was regaining her balance, the snow suddenly collapsed beneath her, ensuring slower footwork. He rushed at her as she tried to find footing, but instead of sword meeting sword, he stopped in his tracks, snow covering his face. The cold momentarily stunned him, and he had to really get it in gear to parry a powerful strike on the girl's part. However, her footwork was no longer as steady now. With each parry or blow, she was losing more and more composure. And she knew it. Footing becoming less certain, her blows came now in endless volleys, and all James could do was parry and wait for an opportunity to present itself.

She was tiring, however, from lack of practice and conditioning, and her fighting partner seemed as fresh as when they had begun. She drew back for a powerful blow and immediately realized her mistake: she had left herself wide open. Any closer and his sabre would have been too long to catch a decent hit, but now... She brought her cutlass back as fast as she could for a parry, but his already-cast strike knocked it from her grasp, and her self to the ground. She winced as her hands scraped against the frozen soil, and when she next opened her eyes, she was staring down the gleaming blade of the match's victor, who looked down at her maliciously, as though having cornered a pirate. Then he grinned and extended a hand to help her up.

"My boy, you look dashing with the face of victory as your own," she said proudly. Proud of him though this really wasn't any match for him—and proud of herself for having lasted as long as she had against one of the most skilled fighters in all the Spanish Main and possibly even the whole Royal Navy. They shook hands and took their bows, 'audience' applauding.

"Not bad for being out of practice."

"Thanks!" They thanked the neighborhood, Amy proudly refusing the offered money (though had it been Jack instead of James, it would have been a different story; she was sure she would have passed a hat around. She was always thinking of ways to profit or benefit from any situation. ...Pirate...), and returned inside. "Well, time to go, I guess."

"Aye."

She had left the note on the dinner table where someone was bound to find it, and now they stood before the fireplace in the den, hand in hand, composing themselves. "Okay," she let out her breath in a whoosh. "Let's do this." They filled their thoughts with what they 'desired.' _"Jack is my friend. I have to help him. I'll do anything. I need to go back to his world and find out what I can do, __**please...**__,"_ she thought strongly in her own mind, and suddenly the yearning to go back filled her until she thought she would burst. She _had_ to get back. It was more important than anything else.

"_Allow me to go with her,"_ James asked simply. Long moments passed. ...He blinked and saw a familiar twinkle of turquoise. "Amy." He nudged her gently. "Look." A sort of doorway or portal or opening that even the authoress cannot find a name for, composed of said gentle light, had appeared. _Thank you for helping her_, he thought to whatever it was that had allowed this.

"James?" her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Are you coming?"

"In a heartbeat, pet," he smiled, and together they walked through the portal. Instantly, they were surrounded by light, and then...the sensation of falling. Falling, falling, and a sudden thought struck James: how would they survive the landing? Jack had said that the lass had fallen from the sky on her first visit. She had hit the water, which should have killed her, but she had climbed aboard unscathed. Would the same happen this time? What if something went wrong? Well...there was no going back now. He would have to wait and find out. The light brightened to a blinding white and grew brighter still, until he could not see the lass, nor his own hand holding hers, nor even his nose in front of his face. Falling, falling, falling, and then...

...Everything went black...

* * *

And thus concludes Finding the Warmth of Light! The next installment will begin shortly! Please, leave your comments and reviews, even if you think you have nothing to say. Thank you for reading, and keep your eyes peeled for "Gathering the Scattered Pieces," in which we learn what happened to Jack and what must be done to help!


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